THE  HEART  OF  MERRIE  ENGLAND, 

— BY   THE — 

REV.  JAMES  S.  STONE,  D.D. 


"  Dr.  Stone  writes  well,  with  many  poetic  touches,  a  strong  feeling  for 
nature,  a  reverential  spirit  and  a  knowledge  of  his  subjecJt  which  appears  on 
every  page."  New   York   Tribune. 

"  Full  of  suggestion,  and  will  amply  repay  the  hours  given  to  it." 

Churchman,  N.   V. 

"  An  exceedingly  interesting  book."  Christian   Union,  N.  V. 

"  Full  of  charms  for  the  reader  who  delights  in  rural  scenes  and  sounds." 

Transcript,  Boston. 

"  No  book  on  England,  of  the  many  we  have  read,  so  impresses  us  as  this 
does  with  the  fact  that  the  author  is  in  living  contact  with  the  people  and 
understands  them."  Critic,  N.  Y. 

"  The  work  of  a  by-road  traveler,  who  used  not  only  his  eyes  but  his 
brain,  and  who,  it  is  clear,  knows  also  how  to  use  his  pen." 

Church  Press,  N.   Y. 

"  There  are  the  brightness  of  sunshine  and  the  fragrance  of  roses  in  every 
page;  humoi,  insight,  feeling  and  scholarship  displayed  with  a  lightsome  and 
happy  faculty."  The  Church,  Phi/a. 

"  A  storehouse  of  graceful  and  graphic  writing.  ...  I  have  seldom 
come  across  a  work  of  the  kind  that  reveals  so  much  novelty  of  treatment 
together  with  such  keen  and  lively  powers  of  observation  and  penetration. 

Editor  of  the  Derbyshire  Advertiser,  England. 

"  To  the  author's  foot  the  soil  of  England  is  like  moist  moss,  every  step 
making  it  to  stream  with  memory  and  tradition.  .  .  .  The  book  is  always 
entertaining,  and  is  thoroughly  penetrated  with  the  charm  of  its  subject." 

Literary  Opinion,  London. 

PORTER  &  COATES,  Publishers. 


READINGS 


IN 


Church  History. 


BY  THE 

REV.  JAMES   S.  STONE,  D.  D. 


"  Forsitan  hsec  aliquis,  nam  sunt  quoque,  parva  vocabit 
Sed,  quae  non  prosunt  singula,  multa  juvant." 


PHILADELPHIA: 
PORTER    &    COATES. 


LOAN  STAG^ 


Copyright,  1889, 
By  porter  &  COAXES. 


hAW 

PREFACE. 


The  purpose  of  the  present  work  is  not  to  increase  the 
number  of  text-books  or  to  intrude  into  the  domain  of 
the  finished  and  elaborate  treatises  with  which  scholars 
are  familiar,  but  by  a  series  of  pleasing  and  instructive 
studies  to  lead  the  general  reader  both  to  further  research 
and  to  a  deeper  love  for  the  Church  of  God.  The  sequence 
of  time  and  of  order  has  been  observed,  yet  each  chapter 
is  so  designed  that  perusal  need  not  be  continuous  or  con- 
secutive. In  these  pages,  as  the  master  of  history  may 
find  views  expressed  and  interpretations  given  which 
will  serve  at  least  to  support  or  to  make  known  con- 
clusions not  popularly  recognized,  so  may  the  beginner 
discover  a  completeness  which,  though  rude,  is  still 
sufficiently  suggestive  to  leave  upon  the  mind  a  cor- 
rect impression. 

References  to  authorities  have  not  been  given.  Such, 
to  readers  unfamiliar  with  ecclesiastical  history,  are  use- 
less, and  to  students  are  unnecessary ;  in  a  work  such 
as  this  they  would  be  both  perplexing  and  pedantic. 
Diligent  care  has  been  taken  to  secure  accuracy  and 
to  avoid  allowing  prejudice  either  to  create  a  shade  or 
to  tone  an  hypothesis.      The  aim  has  been  to   make 

r        884  ^ 


4  PREFACE. 

theory,  predilection  and  emotion  conform  to  truth  and 
to  present  a  faithful  and  an  impartial  story.  Doubtless 
even  a  slight  acquaintance  with  original  texts,  contempo- 
rary records  and  modern  commentaries  increases  temerity 
and  conservatism ;  in  a  subject  so  great  one  fears  to  be 
unique,  and  in  a  study  where  the  past  unfolds  itself  in 
mingled  glories  and  in  undying  charm  one  dreads  the 
severing  of  ties,  the  creating  of  new  associations  or  the 
differing  from  judgments  which  have  been  carefully 
ascertained.  Still,  these  readings  have  their  own  life. 
Even  when  sitting  lovingly  and  reverently  at  the  feet 
of  the  masters,  learning  their  views  and  gathering  theif 
inspiration,  the  writer  has  told  the  story  in  his  own  way 
and  according  to  his  own  soul. 

Allied  with  ecclesiastical  history  are  antiquities,  biog- 
raphy, folklore,  polity,  liturgies  and  philosophy,  any  one 
of  which  studies  not  only  is  extensive  and  exhausting,  but 
also  attracts  into  itself  streams  from  many  sources.  -To 
display  the  next  to  boundless  expanse  of  erudition  thus 
suggested,  to  exhibit  the  glory  of  a  system  which  lays 
under  tribute  vast  treasures  of  intellectual  power  and 
to  convey  an  outline  of  the  scenes  and  the  ages  through 
which  the  Church  has  passed,  a  treatise  such  as  this 
must  contain  gleanings  from  many  fields.  Hence 
herein  is  something  concerning  the  poetry,  the  prayers, 
the  customs,  the  doctrines  and  the  buildings  which  be- 
long to  the  ecclesiastical  kingdom.  Authors  and  books 
are  examined — among  the  former,  Augustine,  Dante, 
Langley  and  Milton,  and  among  the  latter  the  Iniitatio 


PREFACE.  5 

Christi  and  the  Pilgmn's  Progress.  Monasticism,  hym- 
nology  and  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer  receive  consid- 
erable illustration ;  the  mediaeval  era  contributes  of  its 
splendor  and  the  Reformation  period  of  its  interest; 
and  legend,  anecdote  and  folklore  lighten  the  narrative. 
From  this  cause,  possibly,  the  arrangement,  choice  and 
treatment  of  subjects  are  faulty ;  without  apparent  rea- 
son much  is  omitted,  inserted,  hurried  over  or  lin- 
gered upon.  The  book,  however,  must  be  judged  as 
a  whole;  its  details  may  take  shelter  under  the  lines 
of  Ovid  quoted  on  the  title-page :  "  Perhaps  some  one 
will  call  these  trivial  matters,  and  so  they  are ;  yet 
what  is  of  little  good  by  itself,  combined  with  others, 
effects  much." 

These  words  of  the  poet  suggest  the  course  whereby 
a  knowledge  of  history  is  acquired — "  here  a  little  and 
there  a  little ;"  something  even  from  a  book  such  as  this 
— not  much  in  itself,  perhaps,  but  with  that  which  may 
be  gleaned  elsewhere  helping  to  create  those  tastes  and 
to  complete  those  accomplishments  which  the  student 
desires.  He  who  would  be  familiar  with  the  subject 
will  not  slight  a  trifling  help,  nor  in  the  day  when  able 
to  set  aside  elementary  books  will  he  despise  the  source 
whence  came  assistance.  Better  treatises  have  been  writ- 
ten than  Churton's  Early  E7iglish  Ch2irch  and  Massing- 
berd's  English  Reformation,  but  on  the  scholar's  shelves 
and  in  the  scholar's  heart  these  little  volumes  have  an 
honorable  place.  Many  books  could  be  named  no  one  of 
which  is  either  profound  in  learning  or  original  in  style, 


6  PREFACE. 

but  which,  having  been  of  use  to  the  advanced  student, 
are  by  him  kindly  remembered.  The  *'  hne  upon  Hne  " 
is  the  process  by  which  is  obtain-ed  the  mastery.  Not 
that  the  day  will  soon  come  when  will  be  needed  no 
more  the  guidance  of  men  such  as  Professor  Freeman, 
Bishop  Stubbs,  Canon  Bright,  Dr.  Mommsen  and  Bishop 
Hefele ;  when  one  can  dispense  with  Milman,  Neander, 
Robertson,  Bryce,  Grote,  Wordsworth,  Stanley,  and  the 
like ;  or  when  one  will  not  require  the  accumulations  of 
knowledge  massed  in  the  dictionaries  edited  by  Dr.  Wil- 
liam Smith,  in  the  Encyclopcedia  Britannica  and  in  the 
Dictio7iary  of  National  Biography.  These  authors  and 
these  stores,  together  with  others  no  less  illustrious, 
will  remain  necessary ;  only  the  book  which  serves  as 
an  introduction  to  them  passes  away. 

Undoubtedly  for  most  readers  original  research  is 
difficult  and  work  such  as  that  of  a  Jacob  Grimm  or 
a  Joseph  Bingham  beyond  possibility,  yet  to  history — 
notwithstanding  the  efforts  needed  to  master  the  lan- 
guage and  the  style — a  more  lively  interest  is  necessarily 
given  by  contemporaries  than  by  later  commentators. 
For  instance,  Matthew  Paris,  Roger  de  Hoveden  and 
William  of  Malmesbury  impart  to  the  story  of  their 
times  a  reality  and  a  vividness  inimitable,  a  delightful 
quaintness  and  a  satisfying  authority.  In  Chaucer  the 
fourteenth  century  lives  again.  The  epistles  of  Cyprian 
display  the  character  of  the  champion  of  monarchical 
episcopacy,  and  those  of  John  the  Golden-mouthed  set 
forth  the  beauty  of  soul  and  the  activity  of  life  of  the 


PREFACE.  7 

prince  of  preachers.  In  the  Paston  correspondence  is 
pictured  the  family  and  social  Hfe  of  England  in  the  fif- 
teenth century,  while  full  of  interest  are  collections  such 
as  those  of  the  Parker  Society,  Sir  Henry  Ellis  and  Dr. 
Brewer.  Evelyn  and  Pepys  have  a  unique  story;  the 
Annales  Monastici  published  by  the  master  of  the  rolls 
open  the  abbey-doors  of  Osney,  Worcester,  Waverley, 
Bermondsey  and  Tewkesbury ;  Dugdale  and  Stow  are 
without  peers ;  and  as  Thorpe  records  the  ancient  laws 
and  institutes  of  England,  so  do  Haddan  and  Stubbs 
give  the  documents  relating  to  the  early  churches  within 
the  British  Isles.  Incommunicable  is  the  charm  of  turn- 
ing over  the  leaves  of  a  veritable  Camden,  of  handling  a 
charter  or  chronicle  some  centuries  old  or  of  decipher- 
ing an  inscription  on  a  mediaeval  brass.  To  visit  the 
scenes  is  to  add  to  the  force  of  history.  The  fiords  of 
Norway  and  the  islets  of  Scotland  are  fresh  with  the 
memories  of  bards  and  of  vikings ;  the  Tower  of  Lon- 
don, the  Cathedral  of  Milan,  the  Kremlin  and  the  Vati- 
can have  an  inexhaustible  interest;  while  Lesbos  still 
speaks  of  Sappho  and  Alcaeus,  Salona  of  Diocletian, 
Cyprus  of  Richard  and  Berengaria,  and  Florence  of 
Dante.  The  eleventh  century  is  not  dead  to  him  who 
has  stood  beside  the  tomb  of  the  Confessor,  wandered  in 
the  fenland  and  over  the  field  of  Senlac,  roved  through 
the  streets  of  Rouen  and  Sens,  and  watched  the  white- 
caps  break  on  the  rocks  of  Guernsey  and  Sark.  So 
with  other  times.  Indeed,  the  reader  of  history  should 
aim  to  get  beyond  the  commentary  into  the  original 


8  PREFACE.  ^ 

authority,  and  to  see  the  places  in  which  the  heroes 
wrought  their  work.  More  could  be  done  than  is 
thought  possible.  One  book  at  a  time;  one  scene 
well  mastered  before  another  is  sought. 

Designedly  to  imitate  an  earlier  age  is  unwise.  The 
unconscious  and  inevitable  tendency  in  time  to  repro- 
duce former  phases  may  well  be  left  to  itself,  but  to 
endeavor  to  mould  the  nineteenth  century  after  the  fash- 
ion, say,  of  the  thirteenth,  the  fourth  or  the  first  centu- 
ry is  to  swathe  the  living  body  in  the  cerements  and 
the  bandages  of  the  grave.  Possibly  habits,  virtues 
and  deeds  which  make  those  eras  glorious  may  be 
desirable;  still,  they  were  largely  the  creations  of  cir- 
cumstances which  no  longer  exist,  and  under  changed 
aspects  most  likely  are  no  longer  necessaiy.  The  ab- 
bey, for  instance,  served  a  purpose  in  days  when  might 
was  right  and  the  home-life  was  unknown ;  the  purpose 
passes  away  when  law  is  recognized  and  privacy  is 
sacred.  Even  worship  may  well  have  been  symbol- 
ical and  sensuous  when  people  could  neither  read  nor 
appreciate  intellectual  effort.  Nor  was  the  papacy  with- 
out justification  in  periods  when  kings  could  not  admin- 
ister justice  and  nations  could  not  keep  themselves  from 
revolution,  war  and  chaos.  But  under  the  altered  con- 
ditions of  modern  life  things  which  were  once  useful 
may  become  burdensome.  For  the  Church  now  to  fet- 
ter itself  with  an  episcopacy  such  as  Cyprian  devised,  or 
to  fasten  itself  within  the  pound  of  a  presbytery  such 
as  the  seventeenth  century  loved,  would  be  not  only  to 


PREFACE.  9 

destroy  every  possibility  of  growth,  but  also  to  strangle 
itself  to  death.  And,  as  a  fact,  in  ages  when  Christen- 
dom has  done  its  greatest  work  it  has  readiest  broken 
from  a  slavish  submission  to  precedent,  and  has  suffered 
itself  freely  to  develop  under  the  active,  vivifying  hand 
of  the  present.  The  sixteenth  and  the  thirteenth  cen- 
turies recognized  to  the  full  that  God  is  in  the  "  to-day  " 
as  truly  as  he  was  in  the  "  yesterday."  Things  which 
in  their  nature  are  eternal — truths  of  God,  the  faith  once 
delivered  to  the  saints  and  ethical  principles — may  not 
be  set  aside ;  but  things  which  are  temporary,  brought 
forth  by  the  exigences  of  the  passing  hour,  expedient 
under  certain  necessities  or  purely  the  outcome  of  taste, 
may  be  suffered  to  perish.  This  book,  therefore,  while 
seeking  to  increase  a  love  for  the  past,  to  draw  from  it 
lessons  of  encouragement  and  of  warning,  and  to  display 
something  of  its  charm  and  its  power,  is  not  intended  to 
favor  a  reproduction  of  that  past.  The  eleventh  century 
needed  both  a  Glastonbury  and  a  Hildebrand — the  one 
may  arouse  imagination  and  the  other  kindle  enthu- 
siasm-^but  in  the  nineteenth  century  there  is  no  room 
for  either. 

That  which  concerns  time  touches  also  space.  Much 
is  said  herein  of  the  Church  of  England,  and  it  is  said 
reverently  and  affectionately ;  but  no  more  fatal  mistake 
can  there  be  than  for  the  daughter-churches  to  spend 
their  energies  in  closely  following  even  that  queenly 
mother.  America  is  not  England,  nor  are  Canada  and 
Australia  as  is  a  country  which  reckons  its  age  by  millen- 


10  PREFACE. 

niums.  The  conditions  of  life  beside  the  Mississippi  and 
the  Murray  and  those  beside  the  Severn  and  the  Thames 
are  widely  different ;  the  new  lands  are  to  make  history, 
and  not  to  copy  history.  There  may  be  love  and  admi- 
ration, the  closest  and  tenderest  sympathy,  but  to  attempt 
imitation  simply  for  imitation's  sake  is  to  destroy  free- 
dom ;  and  to  seek  to  graft  upon  churches  in  the  vigor 
of  early  youth  customs  and  laws  peculiar  to  an  ancient 
establishment  is  folly.  Flowers  which  grow  in  one  cli- 
mate die  in  another;  things  which  are  glorious  on  the 
eastern  side  of  the  Atlantic  when  brought  to  the  west- 
ern appear  absurdities ;  and  life  becomes  crippled  in  fhe 
desire  to  build  outside  of  London  a  Tower  and  beyond 
the  walls  of  Rome  a  Vatican.  The  churches  of  the  An- 
glican communion  cannot  fail  to  retain  the  marks  of 
their  noble  origin,  but  each  must  live  its  own  life  and 
follow  its  own  career.  There  are  some  words  of  Lan- 
franc  of  Canterbury  quoted  in  this  volume  which  apply 
to  this  position. 

The  reader  must  now  be  left  to  himself.  If  the  book 
pleases  and  helps,  the  writer  will  be  doubly  gratified ; 
but  should  it  fail  to  do  either,  then  let  the  intention  be 
thought  of  as  well  as  the  execution. 

Philadelphia,  April  27,  1889. 


CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER  I. 

PACK 

The  Times  of  St.  Ignatius  the  Martyr 13 


CHAPTER  n. 
Early  Ritual  Poetry 39 

CHAPTER  III. 
The  Solitary  Life 63 

CHAPTER  IV. 
Growth  of  Monachism 104 

CHAPTER  V. 
Echoes  from  Nic^ea 141 

CHAPTER  VI. 
St.  Martin  of  Tours •   •  •   i74 

CHAPTER  VII. 
St.  Monica  and  St.  Augustine i94 

CHAPTER  VIII. 

The  British  Land  and  Church 213 

11 


12  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  IX. 

PAGB 

The  Conversion  of  England 230 

CHAPTER  X. 
St.  Guthlac  and  the  Abbey  of  Croyland 260 

CHAPTER  XI. 
The  Glory  of  Canterbury 289 

CHAPTER  XII. 
The  Century  of  Splendor 330 

CHAPTER  XIII. 
Beginnings  of  Reformation , 373 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
Saxon  and  Swiss 414 

CHAPTER  XV. 
Henry,  Wolsey  and  Cranmer 445 

CHAPTER  XVI. 
Richard  Hooker 494 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
The  Puritan  Supremacy 522 

CHAPTER  XVIII. 
The  Story  and  Spirit  of  the  Prayer-Book 557 


Readings  in  Church  History. 


CHAPTER    I. 

Et)t  STimeg  of  ^t  Ifgnatitig  rtje  ittartgr. 

An  ancient  author,  Minucius  Felix  by  name,  writing 
about  the  year  of  our  Lord  1 50,  represents  himself  and 
two  other  young  men  walking  on  the  low  sea-beach  at  the 
mouth  of  the  Tiber.  They  watched  the  gently-rippling 
water  as  it  smoothed  the  sand  and  came  up  on  the  shore 
with  crisp  and  curling  waves.  Near  them  were  some 
boys  whirling  thin  shells  along  the  surface  of  the  water, 
so  as  to  make  them  skim  from  wave  to  wave  or  spring 
up  with  repeated  bounds.  The  three  friends  sat  down 
and  began  to  talk  of  deep  things — of  things  that  be- 
longed to  the  Christ  and  to  the  soul  of  man.  Step  by 
step  their  thoughts  were  led  away  from  the  happy  scene 
around  them  into  the  realm  of  mystery.  One  of  them, 
the  excellent  and  faithful  Octavius,  spoke  of  the  Re- 
deemer and  his  resurrection,  and  in  the  end  he  summed 
up  the  whole  idea  of  Christianity  in  words  worthy  of 
being  written  in  letters  of  gold  and  preserved  for  all 
time :  "  We  do  not  tal^  great  things ;  we  live  them." 

And  such  was  the  spirit  of  the  Christians  of  the  time 
of  St.  Ignatius  the  Martyr,  the  years  about  the  end  of 

13 


14  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

the  first  century  and  the  beginning  of  the  second  cen-^ 
tury  of  the  present  era.  The  reUgion  of  Jesus  was  more 
than  a  theory :  it  was  a  Hfe.  Before  we  speak  of  the 
martyr  we  shall  consider  the  times. 

The  origin  and  the  triumph  of  the  Church  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  are,  indeed,  among  the  most  wonderful  phenom- 
ena of  which  human  experience  is  cognizant.  That  a 
small  band  of  men  without  social  or  national  standing, 
with  no  extraordinary  gifts  or  rare  abilities,  and  with 
neither  the  influence  of  wealth  or  position  nor  the  phil- 
osophy and  arts  of  the  schools,  should  compel  a  world 
to  accept  their  doctrines  and  should  win  kingdoms  for 
their  Lord  were  acts  so  far  beyond  all  human  probability 
that  they  can  be  regarded  only  as  miraculous  and  in 
themselves  expressions  of  the  divine  and  the  supernat- 
ural. Within  the  first  century  and  a  half  of  the  Christian 
era  not  only  had  the  Church  established  herself  in  Pales- 
tine, Syria,  Armenia  and  the  provinces  of  Asia  Minor, 
but  she  had  also  touched  Parthia  and  Arabia ;  in  Africa, 
Egypt,  Lybia,  Cyrenaica  and  Ethiopia;  the  islands  of 
Cyprus  and  Crete ;  and  in  Europe,  Greece,  Macedonia, 
Thrace,  Illyricum,  Italy,  Spain,  Gaul,  Germany,  and  pos- 
sibly Britain.  This  extension,  apart  from  the  divine 
nature  of  the  Church,  has  been  ascribed  to  the  follow- 
ing causes :  The  inflexible  and  intolerant  zeal  of  the 
Christians,  the  doctrine  of  the  future  life,  the  miracu- 
lous powers  ascribed  to  the  Church,  the  pure  and  austere 
morals  of  the  Christians  and  the  union  and  discipline  of 
the  Christian  republic.  But  these  causes  are  only  sec- 
ondary. Greater  than  they  is  the  Christ  within  the 
Church. 

Christianity  is  both  a  revelation  and  a  development : 


THE    TIMES  OF  ST.   IGNATIUS   THE  MARTYR.      1$ 

its  roots  spring  out  of  earthly  soil ;  its  grace  and  beauty 
come  from  heavenly  suns.  Both  Judaism  and  paganism 
are  by  it  laid  under  tribute ;  they  had  truth — vital,  grow- 
ing truth — which  evolved  and  gathered  strength  with 
the  flow  of  ages  until  the  fulness  of  the  time  had  come 
and  the  Christ  appeared.  And  afterward  the  Church 
was  largely  moulded  and  enriched  by  external  influences 
and  given  a  power  she  could  not  have  had  had  she  re- 
mained as  left  by  Galilean  apostles.  From  Judaism  she 
received  much  of  her  ritual  element — a  liturgical  mode 
of  worship,  a  love  of  hallowed  and  appropriate  rites,  a 
reverence  for  the  material  things  which  by  consecration 
to  the  service  of  God  were  made  holy ;  from  Greece  she 
received  that  spirit  of  learning  and  philosophy  which  led 
to  the  development  and  enunciation  of  doctrine;  and 
from  Rome  she  gathered  the  principles  of  organization 
and  gained  the  knowledge  of  government.  Nor  has 
she  ever  refused  to  assimilate  into  her  system  whatever 
was  pure  and  true  in  any  of  the  religions  with  which  she 
has  been  brought  into  contact,  but  with  a  wise  and  dis- 
creet flexibility  she  has  recognized  and  adopted  whatever 
was  dear  to  man  and  acceptable  to  the  Spirit  of  God. 

The  early  Church  was  largely  composed  of  the  mid- 
dle and  lower  classes  of  society.  There  were,  indeed, 
converts  from  the  wealthy  and  learned  ranks,  but  for 
many  years  such  were  exceptional.  This  was  the  re- 
proach which  Celsus,  the  first  great  polemical  adversary 
of  Christianity,  later  brought  against  the  faith:  none, 
said  he,  but  uncultivated,  poor,  superstitious  people, 
mechanics  and  slaves,  became  disciples:  the  Christians 
**  manifestly  show  that  they  desire  and  are  able  to  gain 
only  over  the  silly  and  the  mean  and  the  stupid,  with 


1 6  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

women  and  children."  With  the  bitterest  sarcasm  and 
the  most  flippant  raillery  he  attacks  truths  which  the 
Christians  held  most  dear,  and  stayed  not  even  to  com- 
pare the  Christians  themselves  to  a  set  of  worms  or  frogs 
sitting  and  squabbling  in  the  mud.  Particularly  did  he 
dislike  the  promises  of  the  gospel  to  the  poor  and  mis- 
erable, scoffingly  declaring,  "  God  troubles  himself  no 
more  about  men  than  about  monkeys  and  flies."  But  in 
proportion  to  the  scorn  with  which  the  exalted  and  philo- 
sophical classes  treated  the  poor  downtrodden  multitude, 
looking  upon  poverty  as  the  greatest  crime  and  regarding 
a  slave  as  naught  better  than  an  animated  tool,  appeared 
the  sweetness  and  the  preciousness  of  the  invitation  of 
the  Lord  of  the  Christians,  "  Come  unto  me,  all  ye  that 
labor  and  are  heavy  laden,  and  I  will  give  you  rest." 
Hence  the  "  common  people "  heard  him  gladly.  In 
every  town  and  village  of  the  Empire  the  outcasts  from 
society  were  gathered  into  the  flock  of  the  Good  Shep- 
herd who  came  to  seek  and  to  save  that  which  was  lost  ; 
ever  and  anon  some  one  in  those  proud,  haughty  ranks 
was  touched  and  as  a  little  child  sought  to  enter  into  the 
kingdom  of  God ;  and  with  the  years  the  Church  grew 
and  multiplied  and  became  a  power  in  the  earth. 

Ere  long  the  Church  found  herself  face  to  face  with 
the  outraged  spirit  of  paganism.  For  Christianity  was 
aggressive  and  offensive.  It  could  not  rest  as  one  among 
many  religions  and  admit  that  all  were  good  and  all  were 
sincere ;  on  the  contrary,  it  claimed  to  be  itself  alone  true 
and  every  other  system  to  be  false.  Nor  did  it  rest  at 
that :  it  proclaimed  a  warfare  against  all  that  was  evil, 
erroneous  or  doubtful  among  men — a  warfare  that  should 
not  cease  until  all  the  kingdoms  of  the  earth  had  be- 


THE   TIMES   OF  ST.   IGNATIUS   THE  MARTYR.      1/ 

come  the  kingdoms  of  God  and  of  his  Christ.  This 
it  was  which  provoked  the  followers  of  the  older  relig- 
ions. Had  Christianity  been  content  to  recognize  them; 
it  would  have  escaped  persecution ;  for  new  gods  were 
invented  and  new  systems  formulated  day  by  day,  and 
no  one  objected  to  every  individual  following  the  bent 
of  his  own  devices.  But  to  the  disciple  of  the  Lord 
Jesus  such  a  compromjse  or  such  an  inaction  was  im- 
possible. For  him  to  admit  that  the  men  of  Corinth-  and 
Cyprus  might  worship  Aphrodite  and  they  of  Ephesus 
bow  before  the  shrine  of  Diana  was  to  deny  the  Christ ; 
and  to  deny  the  Christ  was  to  rob  God  of  his  glory  and 
himself  of  a  part  in  the  resurrection  of  the  just.  There- 
fore he  lifted  up  his  voice  against  the  popular  conception 
of  religion,  denounced  the  superstitions  and  vices  which 
sprang  therefrom,  and  refused  alike  to  bend  the  knee  in 
the  worship  of  a  Jupiter  or  an  Apollo  and  to  recognize 
the  apotheosis  of  a  Caesar. 

At  first  the  priests  and  philosophers  of  heathenism 
treated  with  indifference  the  assumptions  of  a  feeble 
and  despised  class ;  then  they  smiled  complacently  and 
pityingly.  After  a  while  the  rapid  spread  of  these  new 
ideas  aroused  their  closer  attention,  eventually  exciting 
their  fears  and  kindling  their  animosities.  What  if  these 
disciples  of  the  Nazarene  should  triumph,  after  all? 
What  if  the  Christ  should  overthrow  the  gods  whom  for 
ages  the  people  had  worshipped  ?  And  the  more  they 
thought  of  these  possibilities  and  the  more  they  exam- 
ined their  own  defences,  so  much  the  more  they  realized 
the  inherent  weakness  of  paganism  and  the  irresistible 
strength  of  Christianity.  Business,  too,  was  touched  : 
as  people  became  Christians  they  gave  up  wearing  amu- 

2 


1 8  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

lets,  burning  incense,  and  buying  images  of  the  gods, 
Demetrius  the  silversmith  was  right:  if  this  new  relig- 
ion should  prevail,  there  was  great  danger  that  the  trade 
of  those  who  made  figures  of  the  deities  would  come  into 
disrepute.  Nor  would  the  Christians  attend  the  sports 
or  witness  the  bloody  scenes  of  the  amphitheatre ;  they 
would  not  frequent  the  baths  nor  adorn  their  persons  with 
cut  flowers;  they  condemned  frivolous  and  unseemly 
conversation  and  opposed  the  use  of  obscene  or  ques- 
tionable figures  either  upon  garments  or  upon  walls ; 
their  conversation  ran  upon  things  which  were  calcu- 
lated to  subdue  rather  than  to  excite  the  passions,  and 
to  guide  the  thoughts  away  from  the  pleasures  and  the 
sufferings  of  this  life  to  the  land  beyond  the  silver  sky 
where  peace  and  purity  abide;  and  thus  their  behavior 
affected  society  in  general.  Their  holy  life  was  a  re- 
proach to  their  neighbor.  Even  in  want  they  were 
happy,  and  in  death  they  were  brave.  Free  from  the 
vices  which  degraded  the  heathen,  their  young  men 
grew  up  strong  and  healthy  and  their  maidens  beauti- 
ful and  chaste.  Thrifty  and  industrious,  kindly-affec- 
tioned  one  toward  another,  they  became  rich  while 
others  grew  poor.  And  these  are  the  things  which 
irritate  the  world.  The  pagan  ceased  to  laugh  and 
began  to  hate.  He  beheld  the  changes  working  around 
him,  and  his  contempt  grew  into  scorn,  and  the  scorn 
gathered  strength  until  it  became  a  fire  of  uncontrol- 
lable passion,  and  with  bitter  recklessness  he  sought  to 
sweep  Christianity  from  off  the  face  of  the  earth. 

An  opportunity  for  persecution  soon  offered  itself. 
In  the  year  54,  Nero,  a  youth  of  seventeen,  the  nephew 
of  the  infamous  Caligula,  became  emperor.     His  cru- 


THE    TIMES   OF  ST.   IGNATIUS   THE  MARTYR.      1 9 

elty  and  licentiousness  were  early  manifested  ;  his  crimes, 
so  many  and  so  awful,  exhibit  at  once  the  depravity  of 
his  nature  and  the  degradation  of  an  age  which  made 
it  possible  for  so  great  a  monster  to  occupy  the  imperial 
throne.  Weak  in  character,  frivolous  in  disposition  and 
callous  to  suffering,  he  was  carried  along  by  the  streams 
of  vice  whithersoever  they  flowed.  One  July  night  in 
the  year  64  a  fire  broke  out  in  the  city  of  Rome.  It 
originated  among  some  wooden  booths  and  shops  in  a 
part  of  the  city  where  there  were  no  houses  or  build- 
ings of  solid  masonry  to  check  its  progress.  In  spite 
of  all  attempts  to  extinguish  it,  in  a  little  while  the  lower 
parts  of  the  city  became  a  sea  of  flame.  For  six  days 
the  fire  raged,  and  was  stopped  only  by  pulling  down 
a  number  of  houses  and  thus  leaving  a  vacant  space  in 
front  of  it.  Soon  afterward  another  fire  began,  in  the 
northern  part  of  the  city,  which  continued  for  three  days 
before  it  was  put  out.  By  these  two  fires  many  lives 
were  lost  and  the  greater  part  of  Rome  was  destroyed. 
Wise  steps  were  immediately  taken  to  relieve  the  suf- 
ferings of  the  houseless  and  starving  multitude,  and  to 
rebuild  the  city  on  a  better  plan  and  with  less  perishable 
materials.  Nero  was  at  Antium,  thirty-eight  miles  from 
Rome,  on  the  seashore,  when  the  fire  began,  nor  did  he 
return  to  the  city  for  some  days  after ;  but,  before  long, 
ugly  rumors  were  bruited  abroad  that  he  himself  was 
the  author  of  the  conflagration.  Some  said  that  he 
desired  to  clear  away  the  crooked,  narrow  streets  and 
unsightly  buildings  which  covered  the  older  part  of  the 
city,  that  he  might  re-edify  it  in  a  manner  becoming  the 
splendor  and  wealth  of  an  empire  such  as  his.  Certainly 
he  did  restore  on  a  magnificent  scale,  and  built  a  golden 


20  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY.  ^ 

palace,  in  the  porch  of  which  he  placed  a  colossal  statue 
of  himself,  one  hundred  and  twenty  feet  high.  Others 
said  that  he  caused  the  fire  in  a  mere  freak  of  madness. 
The  horrible  suspicion  gained  strength,  and  Nero  found 
it  necessary  to  discover  some  scapegoats  to  divert  from 
himself  the  rage  of  the  people.  By  this  time  the  Chris- 
tians in  Rome  were  sufficiently  numerous  and  conspicu- 
ous to  attract  the  notice  and  excite  the  fury  of  their 
enemies.  Nothing  could  be  more  popular  than  a  per- 
secution of  them ;  so  Nero  gave  it  out  that  it  was  the 
hated  disciples  of  the  Christ  who  fired  the  city,  and  he 
at  once  began  to  visit  them  with  death.  The  populace 
were  only  too  ready  to  help  him  in  his  dire  onslaught. 
Multitudes  of  Christians  were  convicted  and  exposed 
to  the  most  exquisite  tortures.  Some  were  covered  with 
the  skins  of  wild  beasts  and  torn  to  pieces  by  dogs ; 
others  perished  on  the  cross  or  in  the  flames;  others 
again  were  covered  with  pitch,  and  were  burnt  after 
sunset  as  torches  to  light  up  the  darkness.  The  exam- 
ple set  at  Rome  spread  in  divers  parts  of  the  empire, 
and  everywhere  the  Christians  realized  the  fulfilment 
of  their  Master's  words,  "  Ye  shall  be  hated  of  all  men 
for  my  name's  sake."  Doubtless  many  accepted  the 
baptism  of  death  gladly;  among  those  who  perished 
were  St.  Paul  and  St.  Peter.  P'our  years  later  Nero 
died  at  the  hand  of  an  assassin,  and  Vespasian  reigned 
in  his  stead. 

About  the  same  time  the  Jews  of  Judea  again  raised 
the  standard  of  revolt,  and  in  April,  a.  d.  70,  an  army 
of  eighty  thousand  Romans,  under  the  command  of 
Titus,  lay  siege  to  Jerusalem.  The  Christians,  for  the 
most  part,  had  already  left  the  city,  and  had  crossed  the 


THE    TIMES   OF  ST.   IGNATIUS   THE  MARTYR.      21 

Jordan  to  the  village  of  Pella ;  but  the  place  swarmed 
with  Jewish  pilgrims  and  refugees.  Titus  cut  them  off 
from  all  communication  with  the  outer  world,  and  speed- 
ily famine  and  pestilence  broke  out  among  them.  The 
incidents  of  the  siege  are  the  most  horrible  in  human 
literature.  On  the  hills  without  was  encamped  the  im- 
penetrable host  of  Rome ;  within,  the  dead  lay  unburied 
in  the  streets  and  houses,  the  air  reeked  with  death-deal- 
ing stench,  mothers  slew  and  devoured  their  own  chil- 
dren, the  city  was  seized  with  hunger,  rage,  despair  and 
madness.  **  Verily,  it  became  a  cage  of  furious  madmen, 
a  city  of  howling  wild  beasts  and  of  cannibals — a  hell !" 
Then  came  the  end.  Through  the  broken  walls  poured 
the  legions.  They  entered  the  streets  in  which  lay 
the  heaps  of  the  slain  and  dying.  The  courts  of  the 
temple  swam  deep  in  blood.  Amid  the  blazing  ruins 
of  the  cloisters  six  thousand  women  and  children  miser- 
ably perished.  Before  the  slaughter  was  ended  more 
than  a  million  victims  died,  and  on  the  spot  where  the 
holy  of  holies  had  stood  the  Romans  adored  the  insignia 
of  their  legions.  Jerusalem  was  utterly  destroyed,  and 
Titus  fondly  hoped  that  with  one  blow  he  had  broken 
the  power  both  of  Judaism  and  of  Christianity.  Terri- 
ble and  remorseless  was  Rome  when  enraged,  boundless 
her  resources  and  cruel  the  fire  and  sword  which  she 
sent  to  punish  all  who  dared  to  resist  her  authority; 
and  after  a  while  the  prince  Titus  went  back  to  the  city 
on  the  Tiber,  where  the  people  gave  him  an  ovation  and 
honored  him  with  the  title  of  Caesar.  A  few  years  later 
he  received  the  purple,  and  reigned  for  two  years. 

On  the  death  of  Titus  his  brother  Domitian  became 
emperor.      He  was  by  disposition  jealous   and  suspi- 


22  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

cious,  and,  though  the  early  years  of  his  reign  were 
marked  with  liberal  and  moderate  superintendence,  later 
he  became  the  slave  of  cruelty  and  tyranny.  His  per- 
secution of  the  Christians  was  widespread  and  constant 
— not,  indeed,  so  fierce  and  so  unrelenting  as  the  work 
of  Nero,  but  such  as  caused  much  suffering.  He  it  was 
who  forced  the  aged  John  to  leave  his  work  at  Ephesus 
and  to  labor  as  a  convict  in  the  quarries  of  Patmos.  For 
fifteen  years  he  reigned  over  the  Roman  world,  and 
then,  in  a.  d.  96,  like  Caligula  and  Nero,  his  life  was  cut 
off  by  the  dagger  of  an  assassin.  The  purple  passed  to 
Trajan. 

The  effect  of  these  persecutions  was  not  to  diminish 
the  number  of  the  Christians  or  to  dampen  their  zeal. 
Later,  TertuUian  well  expressed  the  fact :  "  The  blood 
of  the  martyrs  is  the  seed  of  the  Church."  The  fiercer 
the  enemies  of  the  cross  became,  the  stronger  grew  the 
grace  of  God.  The  conversion  of  the  people  still  went 
on;  the  kingdom  spread  throughout  the  Empire;  the 
Church  remained  loyal  to  her  Lord;  and  soon  men 
knew  that  they  were  striving  to  stay  the  tide  of  an 
ocean  which  none  but  God  could  control.  Doubtless 
many  pagans  were  drawn  to  the  faith  by  the  constancy 
of  the  martyrs.  They  saw  how  gladly  these  welcomed 
death  for  the  sake  of  the  lonely  Nazarene;  they  won- 
dered at  their  enthusiasm,  they  admired  their  fortitude. 
"  What  is  the  secret  of  that  strength  ?"  they  asked ;  the 
answer,  "  Jesus  !"  Then  they  too  must  know  this  Jesus ; 
and  when  from  the  heathen  family  the  one  Christian — 
perhaps  the  beloved  and  gentle  daughter  or  the  bright, 
stalwart  son  dear  to  all,  pure  and  true — was  dragged 
away  to  death,  sometimes  love   must  have  suggested 


THE   TIMES  (fF  ST.  WNATIVS  THE  MARTYR.     23 

thoughts  that  could  not  be  stilled  until  those  left  be- 
hind had  found  rest  in  that  sweet  one's  Saviour. 

Within  the  Church  persecution  led  to  a  rigid  disci- 
pline. People  were  not  to  seek  death ;  on  the  contrary, 
they  were  to  exercise  all  prudence  in  avoiding  uncalled- 
for  suffering.  It  was  necessary,  therefore,  that  none 
should  be  admitted  to  the  number  of  the  faithful  who 
would  either  bring  discredit  upon  the  Church  or  betray 
the  brethren  to  the  persecutor.  The  daily  life  of  the 
professor  of  Christianity  was  an  object  of  interest  to  all. 
If  that  life  did  not  correspond  with  the  ideal  of  Christ, 
then  must  it  cease  to  be  called  Christian;  and  if  the 
offender  were  not  amenable  to  admonition,  then  must 
he  be  thrust  out  of  the  society  and  be  unto  the  brethren 
as  one  of  the  heathen.  The  individual  was  called  upon 
to  give  up  certain  pursuits  and  pleasures.  He  was  nei- 
ther to  help  provide  for  the  worship  of  the  pagan  nor 
be  present  at  the  services  of  the  gods ;  he  was  to  dress 
soberly,  act  honorably  and  decorously,  and  at  home,  in 
business,  among  his  friends  and  in  the  world  so  conduct 
himself  as  to  give  no  occasion  either  for  the  believer  to 
stumble  or  for  the  ungodly  to  blaspheme.  Thus  every 
one  by  example  became  a  preacher  of  righteousness, 
and  every  one  was  taught  that  the  glory  of  Christ  was 
the  first  principle  of  conduct  and  the  rule  of  life. 

Before  a  convert  was  admitted  to  holy  baptism  he 
passed  through  a  prolonged  preparation.  He  had  to  be 
instructed  carefully  in  the  principles  of  the  faith,  and  by 
repeated  trial  manifest  the  strength  and  sincerity  of  his 
convictions.  He  was  not  allowed  to  attend  more  than 
a  small  part  of  the  divine  service,  and  never  during  his 
catechumenate  to  witness  a  celebration  of  the  holy  com- 


24  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  Y. 

munion.  For  the  Church  performed  her  highest  rites  in 
secret,  oftentimes  in  the  silence  of  the  night  meeting  in 
upper  rooms,  in  lonely  forest-depths,  in  dark  caves,  in 
unfrequented  sepulchres  or  in  deserted  ruins — anywhere, 
indeed,  where  interruption  could  be  avoided  and  the  sa- 
cred things  of  religion  saved  from  contempt  and  ridicule. 
Thus  she  came  to  be  regarded  as  a  secret  society,  and, 
since  the  Empire  was  honeycombed  with  such  organi- 
zations, creating  suspicion  and  fostering  insurrection, 
when  their  suppression  was  sought  she  too  suffered. 
Moreover,  in  order  to  avoid  exposing  her  sacred  mys- 
teries to  .the  irreverent  curiosity  of  the  heathen,  she 
taught  the  doctrines  of  Christianity  largely  by  symbols. 
These  symbols  were  gradually  explained  to  the  cate- 
chumen, until  in  time  he  was  able  to  read  their  hidden 
meaning  and  appreciate  their  truth.  For  instance,  he 
was  shown  a  picture  of  a  sheaf  of  wheat  surmounted  by 
a  dove  bearing  an  olive-branch,  and  having  on  the  one 
side  a  serpent  with  raised  head  and  on  the  other  a  lion 
with  uplifted  foot.  He  was  told  that  the  sheaf  repre- 
sented the  Church,  God's  wheat  gathered  out  of  this 
world's  harvest-field  and  bound  together  by  the  bands 
of  discipline;  the  dove  betokened  the  illuminating  and 
guiding  power  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  bearing  the  promise 
of  peace;  the  serpent  was  that  great  enemy  of  souls 
who  would,  if  possible,  destroy  the  new  creation  even 
as  he  had  injured  the  old  one;  and  the  lion  was  the 
emblem  of  Him  of  Juda,  even  the  Lord  of  the  Church, 
who  stood  ever  by  the  Church  to  guard  her  from  all 
attacks  of  Satan.  Or,  again,  he  was  instructed  in  the 
meaning  of  the  fish  with  which  the  early  Christians 
adorned  their  walls.     The  Greek  word  for  fish  is  t'^do(:. 


THE    TIMES  OF  ST.   IGNATIUS  THE  MARTYR.     2$ 

and  the  letters  of  that  word  form  the  initials  of  five 
words  signifying  "  Jesus  Christ,  the  Son  of  God,  the 
Saviour,"  and  thus  the  fish  was  the  figure  of  the  Lord. 
By  such  signs  the  Church  concealed  her  truths  from 
the  unbeliever,  and,  as  the  unbeliever  could  not  under- 
stand them,  he  was  confirmed  in  his  idea  of  the  danger 
of  the  Church  as  a  secret  society.  He  was  further  per- 
plexed by  the  absence  in  the  Christian  assembly  of  any 
image  of  God.  An  altar  there  was,  but  plain  and  un- 
adorned and  having  no  statue  upon  it.  He  concluded 
that  the  Christians  were  infidels — people,  indeed,  with- 
out a  God.  The  catechumen,  however,  was  taught  the 
truth  of  the  Invisible — of  Him  who  is  not  to  be  figured 
in  images  of  wood  and  stone. 

When  sufficiently  prepared,  the  convert  was  baptized 
— generally  by  immersion,  though  affusion  was  both 
allowed  and  practised.  Confirmation,  if  the  bishop 
were  present,  immediately  followed — an  act  which  con- 
firmed to  the  newly-admitted  member  all  the  rights  and 
privileges  of  membership.  The  children  of  Christians 
were  undoubtedly  baptized  in  infancy  and  their  training 
in  the  faith  was  solemnly  entrusted  to  sponsors.  Hence- 
forth the  convert  was  allowed  to  be  present  at  and  to 
partake  of  the  Holy  Eucharist,  and  nothing  but  his  own 
fault  could  deprive  him  of  that  privilege.  And  perhaps 
this  secret  discipline  or  economy  of  the  early  Church 
gave  a  clear  meaning  to  certain  ecclesiastical  terms  now 
much  disputed.  If  the  Christian  erred,  he  was  urged 
to  confession,  and  this  was  made  before  the  presbyter 
and  the  whole  congregation.  An  adequate  punishment 
was  then  prescribed — perhaps,  according  to  the  nature 
of  the  offence,  suspension  from  the  Eucharist,  or  even 


26  READTNGS  IN  CHURCH  mSTOJ^V. 

excommunication.  During  the  time  the  sentence  lasted 
the  guilty  member  was  not  suffered  to  meet  with  his 
brethren  in  the  higher  acts  of  Christian  worship,  and 
his  rights  were  held  in  abeyance.  He  was  practically 
out  of  the  Church,  and  in  extreme  cases  deprived  of 
the  consolations  and  instructions  of  religion.  When 
the  punishment  came  to  an  end,  he  was  set  free  from 
his  disabilities,  absolved  and  restored  to  the  company 
of  the  faithful. 

There  can  be  no  reasonable  doubt  that  the  apostolate, 
so  far  as  its  order  and  jurisdiction  went,  was  continued 
in  the  episcopate.  To  deny  this  is  to  deny  the  simple 
facts  of  the  case,  and  is  only  done  where  one  is  afraid 
of  the  consequent  conclusion.  The  bishop  may  not  have 
had  territorial  authority  or  anything  like  our  modern 
diocese,  but  he  certainly  had  presbyters  and  deacons 
under  him,  and  ruled  over  the  congregations  within 
and  around  the  city  in  which  he  dwelt.  At  this  early 
date  he  formed  the  centre  of  an  independent  unity — i.  e., 
there  was  no  organic  confederation  of  dioceses  and  no 
supreme  jurisdictions.  Each  little  circle  of  congrega- 
tions was  complete  within  itself,  remaining  in  commu- 
nion and  close  sympathy  with  other  circles,  but  man- 
aging its  own  affairs  and  making  its  own  laws.  Some 
of  these  circles  were  necessarily  larger  and  more  im- 
portant than  others,  and  their  bishops  occupied  positions 
accordingly.  Thus,  Alexandria,  Antioch  and  Rome 
became  great  centres  of  Church-life,  and  were  destined 
in  time  to  gather  around  them  the  once-independent 
circles  and  form  them  into  united  patriarchates,  with 
their  own  bishop  as  chief  among  his  peers.  But  at 
the  close  of  the  first  century  each  bishop  is  by  himself : 


THE    TIMES   OF  ST.   IGNATIUS   THE  MARTYR.      27 

he  rules  within  his  own  church  or  churches,  assisted  by 
his  presbyters  and  deacons  ;  and  the  unity  of  the  Church 
at  large  is  maintained  by  his  taking  part  with  others  of 
the  same  order  as  himself  in  the  ordination  of  bishops 
for  new  or  vacant  sees.  There  is  nothing  to  show  that 
the  bishop  is  an  outgrowth  of  the  presbytery;  there  is 
nothing  to  show  that  a  bishop  was  ever  ordained  except 
by  bishops ;  and  none  can  maintain  that  Irenseus  spake 
false  when  within  a  hundred  years  of  the  death  of  St. 
John  he  said,  "  We  are  in  a  position  to  reckon  up  those 
who  were  by  the  apostles  instituted  bishops  in  the 
churches,  and  [to  demonstrate]  the  succession  of  these 
men  to  our  own  times." 

During  this  period  the  holy  communion  was  adminis- 
tered every  Sunday ;  following  the  apostolic  precedent, 
on  the  first  day  of  the  week  the  Christians  met  together 
for  the  breaking  of  bread.  That  the  ceremonies  were 
few  and  simple  arose  from  the  exigences  of  the  times, 
but  in  places  where  persecution  was  less  fierce  and  the 
church  could  assemble  with  some  degree  of  safety  it  is 
possible  th^t  more  elaborate  usages  were  kept.  The  con- 
verts came  from  systems  in  which  ritual  was  observed 
in  all  its  fulness ;  many  customs  they  must  needs  have 
brought  with  them.  They  married  and  gave  a  higher 
ideal  to  the  married  life,  but  already  the  single  life  was 
growing  in  favor,  and  second  marriages  were  soon  to  be 
severely  condemned.  They  fasted,  but  without  the  pre- 
scription of  the  Church.  They  did  not  pray  for  the  dead, 
but  those  who  had  fallen  asleep  in  Jesus  they  regarded 
as  still  living,  and  they  ceased  not  to  ask  God  to  add  to 
their  joys  and  to  lead  them  on  from  glory  to  glory.  One 
thing  is  certain :  we  may  emulate,  but  we  can  never  ex- 


28  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

eel,  the  piety,  zeal  and  holiness  of  these  early  professors 
of  the  faith. 

As  has  already  been  stated,  it  was  in  the  year  97  that 
Trajan  became  ruler  of  the  Roman  empire.  He  was  a 
man  of  virtue  and  energy.  In  body  strong  and  healthy, 
in  appearance  majestic,  and  at  heart  just  and  sincere,  he 
wore  the  diadem  for  nineteen  years  with  dignity  to  him- 
self and  with  benefit  to  his  people.  He  is  the  only 
pagan  emperor  that  Dante  places  in  Paradise.  Accord- 
ing to  the  legend,  Gregory  the  Great,  being  sorry  at 
heart  that  so  good  a  prince  should  perish,  prayed 
before  the  tomb  of  St.  Peter  that  he  might  be  saved. 
That  night  the  pope  was  assured  in  a  vision  that  his 
prayer  was  answered,  but  he  was  warned  never  again 
to  pray  for  a  pagan.  Under  Trajan  the  Empire  reached 
its  utmost  territorial  expansion.  He  built  bridges  and 
made  roads ;  his  benevolence  won  for  him  the  love  of 
the  poor  and  his  wise  bestowal  of  dignities  the  admira- 
tion of  the  rich,  and  he  stands  out  in  history  as  the  con- 
trast of  a  Nero. 

But,  so  far  as  the  Christians  were  concerned,  a  good 
emperor  was  more  injurious  than  a  bad  one.  His  veiy 
virtues  would  make  him  more  loyal  to  his  own  religion 
and  more  anxious  to  prevent  the  triumph  of  any  rival 
system.  He  would  be  more  jealous  than  ever  for  his 
own  gods,  and,  since  he  would  ascribe  his  successes  to 
those  gods,  his  sense  of  gratitude  would  lead  him  to 
defend  their  honor  against  all  adversaries.  Therefore, 
Trajan  lifted  up  his  hand  against  the  Christ,  and  in  his 
reign  was  carried  out  the  third  great  persecution  of  the 
Church. 

Now  appears  one  of  the  greatest  of  the  martyrs. 


THE    TIMES  OF  ST.   IGNATIUS   THE  MARTYR.      29 

Antioch  in  Syria  is  on  the  banks  of  the  Orontes,  and 
within  the  shadow  of  the  abrupt  and  lofty  heights  of 
Mount  Silpius.  It  was  a  city  of  remarkable  beauty,  a 
capital  of  kings  and  governors,  possessing  many  mag- 
nificent structures,  and  famous  to  the  pagans  for  the 
celebrated  sanctuary  of  Apollo  at  Daphne  near  by,  and 
to  the  Christians  as  being  the  early  home  of  gentile 
Christianity  and,  next  to  Jerusalem,  the  place  most 
intimately  associated  with  the  apostles.  Here,  in  spite 
of  the  renown  and  splendor  of  the  heathen  worship,  the 
church  had  grown  in  numbers,  wealth  and  influence. 
Tradition  asserts  St.  Peter  to  have  been  its  first  bishop, 
and  Euodius  its  second ;  history,  however,  only  enables 
us  to  say  that  Ignatius  held  the  episcopate  about,  or  a 
little  later  than,  the  year  100.  In  time,  Antioch  became 
a  patriarchate ;  some  thirty  councils  were  held  there, 
and,  while  among  its  bishops-metropolitan  were  such  as 
Baby  las,  Meletius  and  Anastasius,  to  its  presbyterate  St. 
John  Chrysostom  gave  unfading  glory. 

The  early  life  of  Ignatius  is  shrouded  in  impenetrable 
gloom,  for  the  legend  which  declares  him  to  have  been 
the  child  whom  the  Lord  Jesus  set  up  in  the  midst  of 
the  disciples  is  only  a  pious  and  curious  invention.  Even 
the  story  of  his  having  sat  with  Polycarp  at  the  feet  of 
St.  John  has  naught  but  probability  to  support  it.  Nor 
is  it  known  from  whence  he  came,  what  had  been  his 
career,  how  he  happened  to  obtain  the  bishopric  of  An- 
tioch or  what  he  did  in  that  office.  In  truth,  had  it  not 
been  for  his  martyrdom,  scarcely  his  name  would  have 
been  remembered.  But  in  the  light  which  breaks  upon 
him  when  a  prisoner  on  his  way  from  Antioch  to  Rome 
he  appears  distinctly  and  vividly  as  a  vigorous  and  heroic 


30  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HIS  TOR  V. 

personality,  strong  in  his  convictions,  keen  in  his  percep- 
tion of  men  and  things,  and  dauntless  in  his  faith  and 
devotion.  His  integrity,  forcefulness  and  zeal,  with  a 
love  for  the  truth  and  a  desire  to  die  for  his  Lord,  unite 
in  giving  him  a  grandeur  of  character  both  impressive 
and  enduring.  Probably  that  strong  individualism,  as 
much  as  the  conspicuousness  of  his  office,  led  to  his 
arrest  and  condemnation.  His  spirit  was  irrepressible, 
his  work  thorough  and  aggressive,  and  none  would  be 
earlier  than  he  in  denying  the  authority  of  the  Caesar  to 
bid  the  faithful  blaspheme  the  name  of  their  Redeemer. 
But,  whatever  the  reason,  about  the  year  107  and  in  the 
reign  of  Trajan,  he  was  on  his  way  from  his  home  in 
Syria  to  the  great  city  of  the  West,  there  to  be  made  the 
laughing-stock  of  a  cruel  populace  and  to  be  thrown  to 
the  lions  of  the  amphitheatre. 

In  that  journey  he  had  a  foretaste  of  the  end ;  to  use 
his  own  words,  "  From  Syria  even  unto  Rome  I  fight 
with  wild  beasts  by  land  and  sea,  by  night  and  by  day, 
being  bound  amidst  ten  leopards,  even  a  company  of 
soldiers,  who  only  wax  worse  when  they  are  kindly 
treated."  He  passed  by  Colossae,  through  Laodicea, 
Philadelphia  and  Sardis  to  Smyrna,  where  he  tarried  for 
a  while.  Here  he  was  met  and  comforted  by  delegations 
from  the  churches  in  Ephesus,  Magnesia  and  Tralles, 
and  from  here  he  wrote  an  epistle  to  each  of  these 
churches,  and  also  one  to  Rome.  Nor  were  the  Chris- 
tians of  Smyrna  behindhand :  they  ministered  to  his 
wants  with  an  affectionate  readiness,  while  to  the  gentle 
and  holy  Polycarp,  their  bishop,  Ignatius  afterward  wrote, 
"  I  give  exceeding  glory  that  it  hath  been  vouchsafed  me 
to  see  thy  blameless  face."     Hence  he  passed  on  by  Sea 


THE    TIMES   OF  ST.   IGNATIUS   THE  MARTYR.      3 1 

to  Troas,  from  which  place  he  wrote  other  epistles,  re- 
spectively to  Philadelphia,  to  Smyrna  and  to  Polycarp. 

It,  is  from  these  seven  short  letters — the  genuineness 
of  which  has  been  set  at  rest  by  the  masterly  treatise  of 
Bishop  Lightfoot^ — that  we  gather  all  we  know  of  the 
great  martyr.  They  reveal  his  soul,  flowing  along  in 
lines  that  seem  like  streams  of  fire,  so  warm  and  intense, 
so  fervid  and  impetuous,  are  they.  A  "broken  life"  is 
there  made  known — that  is  to  say,  not  a  life  such  as  that 
of  St.  Chrysostom,  which  from  early  consciousness  had 
grown  into  Christ,  but  a  life  once  of  sin,  and  then,  by  a 
catastrophe  as  it  were,  dislocated  and  turned  to  God, 
such  as  in  an  Augustine  and  a  John  Bunyan.  Out  of 
these  broken  natures,  as  has  well  been  said,  are  God's 
heroes  made.  The  remijmbrance  of  what  God  has  done 
for  them  is  ever  present  and  ever  keen ;  an  enthusiasm 
is  created  which  neither  weakens  nor  passes  away ;  re- 
ligion becomes  real,  personal,  absorbing,  and  no  sacrifice 
is  too  great  to  make  for  the  All-merciful.  "  It  is  good 
for  me,"  says  Ignatius,  "  to  die  for  Jesus  Christ  rather 
than  to  reign  over  the  farthest  bounds  of  the  earth." 

Accordingly,  the  martyr's  love  for  Christ  was  great 
and  intense :  "  Only  be  it  mine  to  attain  unto  Jesus 
Christ"  is  the  keynote  of  his  life.  To  the  Romans  he 
writes,  "Speak  not  of  Jesus  Christ,  and  withal  desire  the 
world ;"  to  the  Ephesians,  "  It  is  meet  for  you  in  every 
way  to  glorify  Jesus  Christ,  who  glorified  you  ;"  and  to 
the  Philadelphians,  "  Be  imitators  of  Jesus  Christ,  as  he 
himself  was  of  his  Father."  So  he  speaks  of  Jesus  the  Be- 
loved as  our  Hope,  our  true,  inseparable  and  never-failing 
Life,  *'  apart  from  whom  we  have  not  true  life."  He 
urges,  "  Let    nothing  glitter  in    your   eyes    apart  from 


32  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

him ;"  and  again,  "  In  all  purity  and  temperance  abide 
ye  in  Christ  Jesus."  A  deep  experience  is  that  which 
can  say,  "  He  that  truly  possesseth  the  word  of  Jesus  is 
able  also  to  hearken  unto  his  silence."  Responsibility  is 
summed  up  in  the  line,  "  A  Christian  hath  no  authority 
over  himself,  but  giveth  his  time  to  God."  One  may 
talk  of  Christianity,  and  another  of  Judaism ;  "  but  if 
either  the  one  or  the  other  speak  not  concerning  Jesus 
Christ,  I  look  on  them  as  tombstones  and  graves  of  the 
dead,  whereon  are  inscribed  only  the  names  of  men." 
Surely  a  man  so  full  of  devotion  to  the  Redeemer  might 
well  say,  "  My  charter  is  Jesus  Christ ;"  and  yet  in  his 
humility,  like  many  another  pure  and  noble  soul,  he 
declares,  "  I  have  many  deep  thoughts  in  God ;  but  I 
take  the  measure,  of  myself,  lest  I  perish  in  my  boasting." 
Thus,  to  Ignatius,  Christ  was  the  One  above  all  others ; 
"the  beloved  prophets  in  their  preaching  pointed  to 
him,"  and  "  where  Jesus  may  be,  there  is  the  catholic 
Church."  Never  does  he  turn  away  his  face  from  his 
Lord,  but,  steadfastly  gazing  into  the  glory,  he  becomes 
radiant  with  Christly  light.  Men  knew  his  love ;  upon 
his  heart,  they  said,  inscribed  in  letters  of  gold,  was  the 
name  "  Jesus." 

In  such  a  man  the  vision  of  martyrdom  awakened  the 
most  passionate  enthusiasm.  He  longed  to  die  for  his 
Lord :  the  burden  of  his  letter  to  the  Romans  is  the 
pouring  out  of  blood  as  a  testimony  for  Jesus.  He  is 
afraid  lest  his  life  should  be  spared.  "  I  dread  your  very 
love,"  he  says  to  the  Christians  at  Rome,  "  lest  it  do  me 
an  injury."  He  regarded  himself  as  travelling  from  the 
East  to  the  West  that  he  might  set  from  the  world  unto 
God :  "  If  I  shall  suffer,  then  am  I  a  freedman  of  Jesus 


THE    TIMES   OF  ST.   IGNATIUS   THE  MARTYR.      33 

Christ,  and  I  shall  rise  free  in  him."  In  his  deep  earn- 
estness he  cries,  "  The  pangs  of  a  new  birth  are  upon 
me.  Bear  with  me,  brethren.  Do  not  hinder  me  from 
living;  do  not  desire  my  death.  Bestow  not  on  the 
world  one  who  desireth  to  be  God's,  neither  allure  him 
with  material  things.  Suffer  me  to  receive  the  pure 
light."  His  bonds  he  regards  as  "  spiritual  pearls,"  and 
himself  as  **  God's  wheat:"  **  I  am  ground  by  the  teeth 
of  wild  beasts  that  I  may  be  found  pure  bread."  There 
is  no  pride  nor  extravagance  in  this — nothing  but  a  vivid 
realization  of  the  splendor  of  Christ ;  he  himself  was 
naught:  "Albeit  I  am  in  bonds  and  can  comprehend 
heavenly  things  and  the  arrays  of  the  angels  and  the 
musterings  of  the  principalities — things  visible  and  things 
invisible — I  myself  am  not  yet  by  reason  of  this  a  dis- 
ciple." Heroic  souls  think  naught  of  self;  looking  into 
God's  glory,  they  see  not  the  shadows.  Even  death 
loses  its  personal  effect:  it  is  for  others.  So  Ignatius 
could  well  say  it  was  not  his  blood  that  brought  the 
glory :  "  The  blood  of  Jesus  Christ,  that  is  eternal  and 
abiding  joy." 

This^  devotion  made  him  very  anxious  for  the  Church 
in  Asia.  Already  was  that  land  the  hot-bed  of  heresy 
and  the  hive  of  schismatics.  Some  denied  the  reality  of 
Christ's  person  and  work :  he  only  seemed  to  be  and  to 
do.  Others  desired  the  "  former  things  "  of  Judaism, 
Many  gave  up  the  certainty  of  the  gospel  for  the  specu- 
lations of  philosophy.  In  rebuking  these  errors  Ignatius 
displays  his  theological  skill.  Incidentally  he  shows 
that  the  faith  of  the  Church  in  the  twofold  nature  of 
Christ  was  then  as  now.  He  combats  the  evils  of  the 
age  with  zeal  and  wisdom,  and  like  a  watchman  on  the 
3 


34  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

walls  of  Sion  warns  the  Church  of  the  threatening  dis- 
ruption. 

His  remedy  for  this  deplorable  state  of  affairs  was 
loyalty  to  the  bishop  as  the  visible  centre  of  unity. 
None  of  the  Fathers  are  more  pronounced  or  incisive 
on  this  point  than  he.  Not  that  he  supports  or  defends 
episcopacy :  he  assumes  it  to  be  the  only  possible  order 
of  the  Church.  He  does  not  appear  ever  to  have  heard 
of  any  other  system  of  ecclesiastical  government.  Had 
bishops  been  an  innovation,  some  intimation  must  have 
escaped  him ;  but  he  simply  speaks  of  that  which  is 
established  and  accepted.  Nor  does  he  use  the  word 
"  bishop  "  as  synonymous  with  "  presbyter :"  the  three 
orders  in  the  ministry  are  spoken  of  by  name.  Writing 
in  A.  D.  107,  this  is  significant.  His  sentences  run :  "As 
the  Lord  did  nothing  without  the  Father,  either  by  him- 
self or  by  the  apostles,  so  neither  do  ye  anything  with- 
out the  bishop  and  the  presbyters;"  "He  that  doeth 
aught  without  the  bishop  and  presbytery  and  deacons, 
this  man  is  not  clean  in  his  conscience ;"  "  Ye  should  do 
nothing  without  the  bishop ;"  "  In  proportion  as  a  man 
seeth  that  his  bishop  is  silent,  let  him  fear  him  the  more  ;" 
*'  Some  persons  have  the  bishop's  name  on  their  lips,  but 
in  eveiything  act  apart  from  him."  On  this  testimony 
to  episcopacy  Bishop  Lightfoot  remarks,  "  The  ecclesi- 
astical order  was  enforced  by  him  almost  solely  as  a 
security  for  the  doctrinal  purity.  The  unity  of  the  body 
was  a  guarantee  of  the  unity  of  the  faith.  The  threefold 
ministry  was  the  husk,  the  shell,  which  protected  the 
precious  kernel  of  the  truth." 

Nor  was  Ignatius  without  the  sweet  and  tender  graces 
of  human  affection.     In  his  letters  he  speaks  of  the  kind- 


THE    TIMES   OF  ST.   IGNATIUS   THE  MARTYR.      35 

ness  of  the  bishops  and  delegates  who  had  been  sent  to 
him  from  the  churches.  Polycarp  seems  to  have  won 
his  way  into  his  very  heart.  The  love  of  Onesimus  of 
Ephesus  he  declares  "  passeth  utterance."  Many  of  his 
Smyrnaean  friends  he  salutes  by  name — among  them, 
"Alee,  a  name  very  dear  to  me,  and  Daphnus  the  in- 
comparable." In  all  his  epistles  he  remembers  the 
church  at  Antioch,  now  bereft  of  its  bishop  and  suf- 
fering persecution :  '*  Pray  for  the  church  which  is  in 
Syria."  Impetuous  and  enthusiastic  as  he  was,  neither 
passion  nor  age  nor  authority  marred  the  gentleness 
of  his  soul.  Upon  the  branches  of  strength  and  amid 
the  foliage  of  glory  grew  the  flowers,  pure,  calm  and 
beautiful,  drinking  in  the  sunshine  and  pouring  out 
the  fragrance. 

His  practical  good  sense  appears  in  such  a  paragraph 
as  this :  "  Please  the  Captain  in  whose  army  ye  serve, 
from  whom  also  ye  will  receive  your  pay.  Let  none 
of  you  be  found  a  deserter.  Let  your  baptism  abide 
with  you  as  your  shield;  your  faith,  as  your  helmet; 
your  love,  as  your  spear ;  your  patience,  as  your  body- 
armor." 

When  the  bishop  leaves  Philippi,  the  gloom  again 
settles  around  him.  Legend  has  supplied  the  details 
of  his  martyrdom  in  Rome,  but  legend  is  unworthy 
of  trust.  That  he  testified  for  his  Lord  by  blood  and 
that  his  remains  were  taken  back  to  Antioch  is  next  to 
certain.  An  anniversary  panegyric  by  St.  Chrysostom  to 
the  Antiochenes  is  extant :  "  Ye  sent  him  forth  a  bishop, 
and  ye  received  him  a  martyr ;  ye  sent  him  forth  with 
prayers,  and  ye  received  him  with  crowns." 

The  best  contemporary  pagan  account  of  the  early 


36  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Christians  is  the  famous  letter  written  about  this  time 
by  Pliny,  governor  of  Bithynia,  to  the  emperor  Trajan. 
In  it  will  be  found  much  illustrating  the  age  and  the 
difficulties  of  a  ruler  who  would  obey  the  law  and  yet 
have  mercy  upon  the  offenders.  After  writing  of  other 
matters,  he  says : 

"  I  demanded  of  the  accused  themselves  if  they  were 
Christians ;  and  if  they  admitted  it,  I  repeated  the  ques- 
tion a  second  and  a  third  time,  threatening  them  with 
punishment ;  \i  they  persisted,  I  ordered  them  to  be  led 
to  execution.  For  I  felt  convinced  that,  whatever  it  might 
be  they  confessed  they  were,  at  any  rate  their  unyield- 
ing obstinacy  deserved  punishment.  Some  others,  who 
were  Roman  citizens,  I  decided  should  be  sent  to  Rome 
for  trial.  In  the  course  of  the  proceedings,  as  is  gener- 
ally the  case,  the  number  of  persons  involved  increased 
and  several  varieties  appeared.  An  anonymous  docu- 
ment was  presented  to  me  which  contained  the  names 
of  many.  Those  who  denied  that  they  were  or  ever 
had  been  Christians  I  thought  should  be  released  when 
they  had,  after  my  example,  invoked  the  gods  and  offered 
incense  and  wine  to  your  image,  which  I  had. ordered 
to  be  brought  for  the  purpose  along  with  those  of  the 
gods,  and  had  also  blasphemed  Christ;  none  of  which 
things,  it  is  said,  can  those  who  are  really  Christians  be 
compelled  to  do.  Others,  who  were  accused  by  an  in- 
former, first  said  they  were  Christians  and  then  denied 
it,  saying  that  they  had  been,  but  had  ceased  to  be,  some 
three  years,  some  several  and  one  twenty  years  ago.  All 
adored  your  image  and  those  of  the  gods,  and  blas- 
phemed Christ.  They  declared  that  all  the  wrong  they 
had  committed,  wittingly  or  unwittingly,  was  this — that 


THE    TIMES  OF  ST.  IGNATIUS   THE  MARTYR.      37 

they  had  been  accustomed  on  a  fixed  day  to  meet  before 
dawn  and  sing  antiphonally  a  hymn  to  Christ  as  a  God, 
and  bind  themselves  by  a  solemn  pledge  not  to  commit 
any  enormity,  but  to  abstain  from  theft,  brigandage  and 
adultery,  to  keep  their  word,  and  not  to  refuse  to  restore 
what  had  been  entrusted  to  their  charge,  if  demanded. 
After  these  ceremonies  they  used  to  disperse,  and  assem- 
ble again  to  share  a  common  meal  of  innocent  food ;  and 
ev^en  this  they  had  given-  up  after  I  had  issued  the  edict 
by  which,  according  to  your  instructions,  I  prohibited 
secret  societies.  I  therefore  considered  it  the  more 
necessary,  in  order  to  ascertain  what  truth  there  was 
in  this  account,  to  examine  two  slave-girls  who  were 
called  deaconesses,  and  even  to  use  torture.  I  found 
nothing  except  a  perverted  and  unbounded  superstition 
I  therefore  have  adjourned  the  investigation  and  has- 
tened to  consult  you,  for  I  thought  the  matter  was  worth 
consulting  you  about,  especially  on  account  of  the  num- 
bers who  are  involved.  For  many  of  every  rank  and 
age  and  of  both  sexes  are  already  and  will  be  ^summoned 
to  stand  their  trial.  For  this  superstition  has  infected 
not  only  the  towns,  but  also  the  villages  and  country ; 
yet  it  apparently  can  be  checked  and  corrected.  At  any 
rate,  it  is  certainly  the  case  that  the  temples,  which  were 
almost  deserted,  begin  to  be  frequented,  the  sacred  cere- 
monies, which  had  long  beerf  interrupted,  to  be  resumed, 
and  there  is  a  sale  for  fodder  for  the  victims,  for  which 
previously  hardly  a  buyer  was  to  be  found.  From  this 
one  can  easily  conclude  what  a  number  of  people  may 
be  reformed  if  they  are  given  a  chance  of  repentance." 

To  this  Trajan  replied  : 

*^  You  have  followed  the  right  course,  my  dear  Secun- 


38  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

dus,  in  investigating  the  cases  of  those  who  were  de- 
nounced to  you  as  Christians,  for  no  fixed  rule  can  be 
laid  down  for  universal  adoption.  Search  is  not  to  be 
made  for  them  ;  if  they  are  accused  and  convicted,  they 
are  to  be  punished,  yet  with  the  proviso  that  if  a  man 
denies  he  is  a  Christian  and  gives  tangible  proof  of  it  by 
adoring  our  gods  he  shall  by  his  repentance  obtain  par- 
don, however  strong  the  suspicion  against  him  may  be. 
But  no  notice  should  be  taken  of  anonymous  accusations 
in  any  kind  of  proceeding,  for  they  are  of  most  evil  pre- 
cedent, and  are  inconsistent  with  our  times." 

No  comment  is  needed.  After  much  suffering  "  the 
perverted  and  unbounded  superstition "  became  the 
religion  of  the  Empire  and  the  master  of  Caesars  and 
proconsuls. 


CHAPTER    II. 

ejarlg  3iSimal  f  oetrg. 

At  the  outset  two  facts  concerning  poets  and  poetry 
may  be  emphasized. 

First,  the  probabihty  that  in  the  height  of  his  inspira- 
tion a  poet  utters  truth.  Not  that  everything  he  says  is 
true,  only  when  he  is  under  the  full  sway  of  his  genius, 
when  his  soul  has  reached  the  state  of  exaltation  and 
self-forgetfulness,  when  the  world  with  its  passions  and 
ambitions,  its  views  and  theories,  has  faded  out  of  his 
thought,  and  he  becomes  as  a  little  child,  pure  in  heart  and 
conscience,  moved  only  by  a  spirit  from  on  high.    Then, 

"  As  when  a  great  thought  strikes  along  the  brain 
And  flushes  all  the  cheek," 

he  writes,  if  not  absolute,  yet  relative,  truth.  It  may  not 
be  exactly  what  is  commonly  thought  truth,  for  the 
popular  conception  may  not  agree  therewith,  though 
true  wisdom  will  readier  question  the  current  idea  than 
his  utterance ;  but  upon  examination  it  will  be  found 
that  what  he  says  contains  the  germs  of  vitality  and 
verity — the  two  go  together — and  that  it  is  the  form 
rather  than  the  spirit,  the  expression  rather  than  the 
thought,  that  suggests  error.  The  test  of  the  truth  will 
be  found  in  the  response  which  will  be  made  to  it  by 
every  true  and  noble  heart.     It  will  strike  a  deep  soul- 


40  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  Y. 

chord,  and  that  chord  will  vibrate  and  tremble.  It  will 
appeal  to  the  intellect  and  move  the  emotions ;  and  the 
fuller  the  truth,  the  greater  the  effect.  And,  while  the 
poet  in  his  higher  moods  will  utter  naught  but  truth, 
even  in  his  lower — and  this  is  true  of  inferior  poets  also 
— he  will  say  nothing  that  the  people  whom  he  is  im- 
mediately addressing  do  not  accept,  or  are  not  ready  to 
accept,  as  truth.  He  will  not  care  to  sing  that  which  is 
false,  and  his  instinct  tells  him  no  one  would  care  to  hear 
it.     Even  fancy  must  have  verisimilitude. 

Secondly,  though  the  poet  utters  truth,  or  that  which 
is  believed  to  be  truth,  he  is  more  or  less  a  reflection  of 
his  own  age,  expressing  its  thought  and  feeling  and  pass- 
ing them  through  the  crucible  of  his  mind.  Poetry 
brings  facts  into  relation  with  the  human  soul.  It  is 
the  gathering  and  arrangement  of  materials — sometimes 
by  imagination  absolute  and  unconditioned  by  the  per- 
sonal or  lyrical  impulses  of  the  poet,  only  to  be  found, 
by  the  way,  in  yEschylus,  Sophocles,  Shakespeare  and 
Homer,  and  therefore  oftener  under  conditions  beyond 
the  control  of  the  poet-writer.  They  all  take  hold  of 
this  material,  from  whatever  source  or  by  whatever 
means  gleaned,  and  give  to  it  an  emotional  and  rhyth- 
mical language  and  the  harmony  and  helpfulness  of  life. 
Yet  in  all — in  some  more  than  in  others— there  is  the 
coloring  of  the  age  in  which  they  write.  Even  Shake- 
speare is  not  untouched,  while  Dante  expresses  largely 
the  mediaeval  world,  as  Spencer  does  the  Elizabethan 
and  Milton  the  Puritan.  They  gather  their  material  out 
of  the  era  to  which  they  belong ;  and  just  as  we  appreci- 
ate that  era,  so  will  we.  appreciate  its  poet;  and  just  as 
we  appreciate  the  poet,  so  will  we  appreciate  his  era. 


EARLY  RITUAL  POETRY.  4 1 

Now,  these  two  facts  apply  to  the  ritual  poets  or  the 
hymn-writers  of  the  Church  as  well  as  to  all  others  who 
have  sought  to  stir  men's  hearts  by  song — possibly 
more,  because  in  their  conscience  they  may  have  been 
regenerated  and  strengthened  by  the  infusion  of  Chris- 
tian grace,  though  no  true  poet  can  be  a  bad  man.  The 
hymn-writer  will  certainly  strive  for  truth;  if  great,  he 
will  inevitably  reach  truth,  but  under  any  circumstances 
that  will  be  his  goal ;  and  he  will  also  be  moved  by  his 
age,  impressed  by  it,  uttering  its  conception  of  truth 
and  putting  into  poetic  form  its  deep  heart-thoughts,  its 
joys  and  beliefs.  He  will  speak  of  truths  and  employ 
forms  that  all  accept;  the  fact  that  they  accept  his  work, 
that  the  Church  uses  it  in  her  worship,  age  after  age, 
throughout  the  world,  is  proof  sufficient  that  he  is  only 
expressing  the  mind  of  Christian  people  and  the  concep- 
tions and  conclusions  of  the  Church.  The  coloring  of 
the  time  is  there — perhaps  the  coloring  of  all  time ;  and 
in  the  one  case  the  use  may  come  to  an  end,  but  for 
all  that  it  was  held  to  be  truth  when  it  was  used.  So 
we  find  that  the  hymns  of  the  early  Church  are  affected 
and  colored  by  the  tastes  and  feelings,  the  faith  and  prac- 
tice, of  the  early  Church.  When  the  ascetic  spirit  pre- 
vails, or  the  controversial,  then  the  hymns  of  the  period 
express  its  thought.  Mediaeval  Christianity  erred  too 
often  in  its  sensuousness,  and  that  sensuousness  runs 
through  many  of  the  great  mediaeval  hymns  ;  at  any  rate, 
there  are  indelicacies  and  familiarities  which  agree  not 
with  our  taste.  The  Reformation  stamped  itself  upon 
its  hymns ;  and  when,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  religion 
began  to  deal  more  with  metaphysics  and  experience, 
then  the  hymns   became   subjective  and  introspective. 


42  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  V. 

Bad  theology  and  a  strong  sentlmentalism  find  their  ex- 
pression in  our  own  day  in  the  rhyming  which  in  some 
communities  is  accepted  as  superior  to  all  the  hymns 
that  have  ever  been  written,  while  ability  to  sing  such 
effusions  is  regarded  by  many  as  a  sure  and  certain  sign 
of  grace. 

In  the  early  Church  the  singing  of  the  hymns  formed 
an  important  part  of  divine  service.  We  have  traces  of 
this  practice — and,  indeed,  traces  of  the  hymns — in  the 
sacred  Scriptures  of  the  New  Testament.  The  injunc- 
tion of  St.  James  that  the  merry  should  sing  psalms  and 
that  of  St.  Paul  enjoining  "  psalms  and  hymns  and  spirit- 
ual songs  "  had  been  anticipated  in  practice  when  the 
Lord  Jesus  and  the  apostles  sang  the  Hallel  at  the  last 
passover  and  the  two  Philippian  prisoners  lightened  the 
midnight  hours  with  hymns.  The  Magnificat,  Bene- 
dictus  and  Nunc  Dimittis  have  ever  been  recognized 
as  appropriate  for  liturgical  use.  And  there  are  in  the 
Pauline  Epistles  several  passages  of  the  form  and  charac- 
ter of  the  later  psalmody,  so  as  to  suggest  their  quota- 
tion from  the  primitive  service-  and  hymn-books.  In 
Ephesians  v.  14 :  "  Wherefore  he  saith,  Awake,  thou 
that  sleepest,  and  arise  from  the  dead,  and  Christ  shall 
give  thee  light;"  i  Tim.  iii.  16:  "And,  without  contro- 
versy " — bfxoXoyoofjLEvcoc:,  id  est,  confessedly,  **  as  is  acknow- 
ledged on  all  hands  " — "  great  is  the  mystery  of  godliness : 
God  was  manifest  in  the  flesh,  justified  in  the  Spirit,  seen 
of  angels,  preached  unto  the  Gentiles,  believed  on  in  the 
world,  received  up  into  glory"  (note  the  parallelism  and 
concinnity  of  these  latter  lines) ;  i  Tim.  vi.  1 5,  16 :  "  Who 
is  the  blessed  and  only  Potentate,  the  King  of  kings,  and 
Lord  of  lords ;  who  only  hath  immortality,  dwelling  in 


EARLY  RITUAL   POETRY.  43 

the  light  which  no  man  can  approach  unto ;  whom  no 
man  hath  seen,  nor  can  see :  to  whom  be  honor  and 
power  everlasting.  Amen;"  and  2  Timothy  ii.  11,  12: 
*"  It  is  a  faithful  saying :  For  if  we  be  dead  with  him,  we 
shall  also  live  with  him ;  if  we  suffer  we  shall  also  reign 
with  him  ;  if  we  deny  him,  he  will  also  deny  us."  Some 
have  held  that  these  passages  were  copied  from  the 
apostolic  writings  into  the  liturgies,  and  not  from  the 
liturgies  into  the  apostolic  writings — a  hypothesis  that 
cannot  now  be  decided,  though  they  appear  in  some 
instances  as  abrupt  quotations,  and  in  one  as  having 
not  only  rhythm,  but  rhyme.  And  it  should  be  remem- 
bered that  the  use  of  liturgies  was  general  in  the  Church 
long  before  the  New-Testament  writings  were  accepted 
as  inspired  or  generally  read  throughout  Christendom. 
One  expression  common  in  some  form  or  other  to  them 
all  should  be  noted — viz. :  "  light,"  sometimes  "  glory  " 
and  sometimes  "  reign,"  both,  however,  in  the  Oriental 
mind  suggestive  of  brilliancy  and  splendor.  So  Simon 
spoke  of  Christ  as  "  a  Light  to  lighten  the  Gentiles ;" 
so  Christ  spoke  of  himself  as  "the  Light  of  the  world;" 
and  so  the  Church  in  its  sub-apostolic  days  loved  to 
sing  of  its  divine  Lord. 

When  we  pass  from  Holy  Scripture,  we  find  Ignatius, 
about  the  year  107,  writing  to  the  Roman  church,  "  that 
being  gathered  together  in  love  " — or  yppo;,  ysvofizvoc, 
having  formed  themselves  into  a  choir — "  ye  may  sing 
praise  to  the  Father,  through  Christ  Jesus,"  and  about  the 
same  time  Pliny  the  Younger,  in  his  epistle  to  Trajan,  says 
that  the  Christians  of  Bithynia  met  together  before  day- 
light on  a  certain  day  of  the  week  and  sang  a  hymn  to 
Christ  as  God.     Later  on,  at  the  agapcB,  TertuUian  says, 


44  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

"  after  the  washing  of  hands  and  the  bringing  in  of  Hghts 
each  one  is  asked  to  stand  forth  and  sing,  as  he  is  able, 
a  hymn  to  God,  either  from  the  Holy  Scriptures  or  of 
his  own  composition."  The  indications  are  that  the 
number  of  hymns  in  the  early  Church  was  much  greater 
than  might  be  supposed  from  the  few  that  have  come 
down  to  us.  Though  it  was  an  age  of  persecution  and 
tribulation,  yet  the  Church  was  lightsome  and  glad  at 
heart,  and  the  relics  of  her  psalmody  in  our  posses- 
sion show  her  joy  in  sorrow  and  her  hope  and  faith 
in  trial. 

It  is  to  St.  Clement  of  Alexandria  that  the  praise  of 
leading  the  uninspired  choir  of  Christian  poets  belongs. 
And  there  appears  something  providential  that  it  should 
be  so — certainly,  if  his  lines  have  an  apologetic  value, 
for  he  '*  is  the  first  to  bring  all  the  culture  of  the 
Greeks  and  all  the  speculations  of  the  Christian  here- 
tics to  bear  on  the  exposition  of  Christian  truth." 
He  lays  the  foundation  of  a  systematic  exhibition  of 
Christian  doctrine.  A  scholar  full  of  human  sympa- 
thies and  endowed  with  remarkable  powers  of  logic 
and  observation,  the  learning  of  his  age  is  at  his  feet ; 
he  is  at  home  with  Grecian  poetry  and  philosophy; 
he  is  mighty  in  the  Scriptures.  Keensighted,  honest- 
hearted,  plain-spoken,  he  exposes  the  social  vices  and 
extols  the  social  virtues  of  his  times,  and  few  authors 
better  deserve  study  than  he.  His  surroundings  in 
busy,  learned  Alexandria,  with  its  catechetical  schools 
and  its  noble  library,  and  his  simplicity  and  purity  of 
character,  fitted  him  as  an  intelligent  and  accurate  ex- 
ponent of  the  truth,  and  therefore  whatever  he  writes  is 
dependable  and  important.     He  lived  and  wrote  at  the 


EARLY  RITUAL   POETRY.  45 

end  of  the  second  century,  and  among  his  works  is  the 
well-known  "  Hymn  to  Christ  the  Saviour."  Versions 
of  this  hymn  are  many,  but  the  rugged,  abrupt  compo- 
sition does  not  admit  of  exact  translation.  Its  expres- 
sion is  terse ;  its  thought,  intense.  There  is  a  fervency 
of  spirit,  an  earnest  devotion,  running  through  it,  and 
in  its  direct  and  adoring  address  to  Christ  it  proves 
conclusively  that  he  who  wrote  it  and  they  who  used  it 
regarded  the  Lord  Jesus  not  only  as  the  Redeemer,  but 
as  *'  God  over  all,  blessed  for  evermore."  It  is  well 
to  remember  that  this  hymn  was  written  a  century 
and  more  before  the  Nicene  Council  defined  the  faith 
concerning  Christ,  and  is  therefore  a  refutation  of  the 
charge  sometimes  made  that  in  ante-Nicene  times  the 
deity  of  the  Son  was  unrecognized  and  his  worship  un- 
known. 

But  there  are  two  other  hymns,  one  strictly  liturgical 
and  both  probably  older  than,  certainly  as  old  as,  the 
time  of  Clemens  Alexandrinus — viz.,  the  Hymnus  Angel- 
icus,  or  the  Gloria  in  Excelsis,  and  the  Eventide  Hymn 
or  the  Hymn  for  the  Lighting  of  the  Lamps,  the  ^wc 
llapov  6.yca^.  The  first  of  these  appears  in  the  Western 
liturgies,  and  the  second  is  mentioned  by  St.  Basil  as 
ancient  in  his  day;  both  are  familiar  to  all.  Add  to 
these  the  Trisagion  or  Ter  Sanctus  and  the  Gloria 
Patri,  both  dating  from  the  second  century,  and  from 
the  precious  fragments  of  the  ritual  poetry  of  the 
early  Church  much  may  be  gathered  to  strengthen 
faith  in  the  divine  character  of  Christianity.  At  any 
rate,  whether  their  utterances  be  admitted  to  be  truth 
or  not,  it  must  be  allowed  that  they  were  the  expres- 
sions of  the  poet's  and  the  Church's  faith,  and  uttered 


46  READINGS  IN  CRURCH  HISTORY. 

that  which  the  former  believed  and  the  latter  accepted 
to  be  true. 

And,  in  order  that  the  evidence  so  far  may  have  its 
full  value,  mark  some  of  the  distinguishing  features  of 
the  poetry  of  the  first  two  centuries  of  the  Christian  era 
— a  period  long  before  the  assembling  of  the  Nicene 
Council  and  anterior  to  some  of  the  greatest  hymns 
of  the  Church,  such  as  the  Te  Deum. 

I.  For  one  thing,  the  hymns  of  this  period  are  pecu- 
liar for  their  spirit  of  direct  adoration.  I  had  almost 
said  "  unique,"  in  view  of  the  fact  that  in  later  ages,  and 
especially  in  the  present  age,  most  of  the  hymns  used 
in  divine  worship  are  rather  meditative  and  descriptive 
poems  than  direct  addresses  to  Deity,  and,  if  this  be  the 
idea  of  praise,  unfit  for  ritual  purposes.  Yet  these  very 
poems  are  oftentimes — being,  I  suppose,  set  to  pleasing 
music,  and  possibly  also  poetical  and  beautiful — most 
popular,  and,  indeed,  appropriate  for  private  use  by  the 
individual  Christian.  The  same  contrast  may  be  dis- 
cerned in  the  prayers  which  in  various  ages  men  have 
offered  up  to  the  Almighty.  Compare  the  devotions  of 
the  third  and  fourth  centuries  with  those  of  the  Puritan 
supremacy  in  England,  and  my  meaning  will  be  under- 
stood. The  hymns  of  the  period  before  us  are  pure  ex- 
amples of  worship.  They  are  not  narrative,  didactic  or 
hortatory  effusions,  merely  sounding  mellifluent  or  grand 
or  solemn  and  devoid  of  the  lyric  element,  and  so  unable 
to  start  one  throb  of  lyric  emotion.  They  are  not  intro- 
spective or  experimental,  nor  expositions  of  doctrine  and 
of  Christian  experience,  nor  sentimental  or  meditative, 
but  full  of  sublime  adoration  and  of  exultant  praise — 
objective  rather  than  subjective,  contemplative  and  eu- 


EAELY  RITUAL  POETRY.  4/ 

charistic,  true  utterances  of  faith  and  love,  the  flow  of 
holy,  intense,  almost  passionate  devotion,  a  rich,  full 
stream  of  soul-piety  never  once  reflexive,  never  once 
thinking  of  self,  but  ever  pouring,  even  rushing,  onward 
and  upward  from  the  Church's  inmost  heart  to  the  throne 
of  Omnipotence  and  eternal  grace.  The  poets  and  the 
singers  of  the  early  Church  seem  as  though  their  lips — 
nay,  their  very  souls — had  been  touched  with  angel- 
fingers,  so  that  they  should  utter  only  words  of  divine 
praise ;  their  eyes  were  open,  so  that  they  saw  not  so 
much  into  the  cold,  dark  depths  of  the  human  heart,  the 
sea  of  iniquity  where  monstrous  thoughts  and  hideous 
imaginations  move  with  serpentine  stateliness  or  horrible 
power,  but  up  through  the  rich  saffron  robe  of  Athena's 
glory,  away  past  the  radiance  of  Apollo's  splendor,  into 
the  very  light — the  unapproachable  light — of  heaven, 
where,  crowned  King  of  kings  and  Lord  of  lords,  God 
over  all  the  gods  of  the  earth,  abides  the  Virgin-born, 
the  Christ  of  Calvary.  Only  thus  can  we  account  for, 
say,  that  noblest  song  of  all,  the  Te  Deum,  where  every 
line  is  as  a  flight  through  space  heavenward  and  God- 
ward  and  every  line  brings  home  to  the  soul  the  sweet- 
ness and  the  majesty,  the  truth  and  the  preciousness,  of 
the  Saviour  of  men.  The  Church  has  never  but  this 
once,  in  this  hymn  of  praise,  this  perfect  outline  of  the 
gospel,  swept  as  it  were  through  the  very  gate  of  the 
city  and  united  its  voice  with  the  cherubim  and  sera- 
phim, the  apostles,  prophets  and  •  martyrs,  that  utter 
their  unceasing  song  before  the  everlasting  Father. 
But  the  same  spirit,  though  in  less  degree,  runs  through 
the  hymns  of  the  earlier  centuries.  The  apostle  bade 
the  Christians  sing  psalms  {(paXfioc,  (paco,  rado),  to  sweep 


48  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

the  strings  of  the  harp — nay,  to  suffer  the  sweet  winds 
breathed  by  the  blessed  Spirit  out  of  heaven  to  play 
upon  the  chords  of  the  heart,  till  purer  and  nobler  than 
^olian  strains  which  murmured  through  the  pine  trees 
of  Cithaeron  or  in  tumultuous  majesty  uttered  their  voice 
over  the  foam-streaked  waves  of  Poseidon's  realm,  or 
the  jubilant  chorus  of  the  Muses  around  the  altar  of 
Zeus,  should  become  the  Gloria  in  Excelsis. 

And  surely  this  outburst  of  adoration,  this  single- 
heartedness  of  worship,  characteristic  of  the  ritual 
hymns,  has  an  evidential  value.  It  proves,  at  any  rate, 
the  all-souled  faith  of  the  early  Christians,  their  pure 
and  unfaltering  devotion,  and  thus  implicitly  the  truth 
of  the  gospel.  For  poets  write  truth  and  men  sing 
truth,  or  what  they  believe  to  be  truth,  and  one  cannot 
account  for  the  coming  into  the  world  of  this  spirit  such 
as  runs  through  these  hymns  except  upon  the  hypothesis 
of  Christianity.  Only  contrast  the  moral  superiority  of 
St.  Clement's  hymn  to  Christ  with  all  that  the  Attic 
Muse  had  ever  produced,  and  one  cannot  but  feel  that 
nothing  save  an  objective  fact,  a  mighty  impulse — in 
other  words,  a  true  revelation  from  Heaven — was  the 
immediate  cause.  This  spirit,  remember,  is  not  slowly 
evolved  through  time,  but  springs  at  once  into  being. 
It  does  not  appear  before  the  Christian  era  except 
among  the  Jews,  and  only  among  them  to  a  limited  ex- 
tent, but  so  soon  as  that  era  begins  a  new  song  is  sung 
— the  song  of  the  redeemed.  Of  the  power  and  sweet- 
ness of  that  song  these  fragments  are  suggestions ;  and 
when  we  unite  in  the  Gloria  Patri  or  the  Hymnus  Angel- 
icus,  we  may,  if  we  will,  catch  the  echoes  from  those 
far-away  ages  when  our  predecessors  in  the  faith  were 


EARLY  RITUAL  POETRY.  49 

burning  at  heart  with  a  new  and  real  gospel  and  felt  in 
all  its  freshness  the  truth  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth. 

2.  Again,  in  the  ritual  poets  of  this  period  may  be 
discerned  the  connection  between  Christianity  and  Juda- 
ism. The  one  is  a  development  out  of  the  other.  It  is 
the  same  Church  through  all  the  ages — from  the  patri- 
archal times,  through  the  Mosaic  dispensation  and  into 
the  Christian  era.  The  Lord  Jesus  is  indeed  the  Found- 
er of  Christianity  and  of  the  Church  in  its  Christian 
development,  but  not — in  his  Incarnation,  at  least— of 
the  Church  itself  His  life  is  an  incident,  the  crowning 
glory,  the  magnificent  climax,  in  the  life  of  the  Church. 
He  himself  declared  that  he  came  not  to  destroy  the 
law,  but*  to  fulfil  the  law,  and,  seeing  that  the  Church 
already  had  a  ritual  and  an  organization,  there  was  no 
need  that  the  New  Testament  should  deal  with  those 
matters  as  the  Pentateuch  had  done,  save  so  far  as  would 
allow  for  the  changes  of  times  and  circumstances  and  the 
necessities  of  evolution.  The  Church  in  its  Jewish  days 
changed  according  to  exigences ;  it  should  be  free  to  do 
the  same  in  its  Christian  age.  But  the  broad  basis  lay 
on  a  Mosaic  foundation,  high  priest,  priest  and  Levite 
passing  into  bishop,  priest  and  deacon;  circumcision, 
into  baptism;  the  passover,  into  the  holy  Eucharist; 
Jewish  commemorations,  into  Christian  festivals ;  the 
Sabbath,  into  the  Lord's  day ;  Mosaic  sacrifices  of  pro- 
pitiation, into  Christian  sacrifices  of  memorial  and 
thanksgiving;  prophetic  types,  into  fulfilled  antitypes. 
Failure  to  recognize  this  fact  has  led  to  much  confu- 
sion and  has  been  a  fruitful  source  of  error,  but  the 
fact  is  impressed  upon  the  hymns  of  the  early  Church. 
They  follow  a  Jewish,  and  not  a  Greek  or  a  Roman, 


50  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

model.  It  is  not  till  the  end  of  the  fourth  century  is 
reached  that  a  Christian  hymn  is  written  purely  after  the 
Greek  form  and  spirit.  Then  in  Synesius  of  Cyrene, 
bishop  of  Ptolemais  (378-431),  who  in  his  young  days 
had  been  the  Anacreon  of  gay  society  and  had  misused 
his  gifts  in  vanity,  appeared  the  Anacreon  of  the  Church. 
His  lyric  beginning  "  Come  to  me,  shrill-sounding  lyre, 
after  the  Teian  song,"  is  full  of  vigor,  fire  and  truth, 
and,  in  common  with  his  other  pieces,  replete  with  rich 
pagan  images  and  forms  of  speech  at  times  sweetly  poet- 
ical, but  entirely  in  the  measure  and  tone  of  the  glory 
of  Ionia — "  the  swan  of  Teos."  From  that  day  Chris- 
tian hymns  have  been  composed  after  many  models 
other  than  Hebrew.  Not  that  this  is  in  any  sense  a 
misfortune.  It  is  one  of  the  most  delightful  and  dis- 
tinctive characteristics  of  Christianity  that  it  has  been 
able  to  glean  beauties  and  powers  from  heathen  sources, 
even  as  men  gather  gems  from  mountain-rents  and  gold 
from  river-mud,  and  consecrate  them  to  the  service  and 
glory  of  its  divine  Lord ;  and,  in  fact,  so  it  would  seem, 
when  any  rite,  ceremony,  practice  or  thought  is  ascribed 
to  a  pagan  source,  there  is  implicitly  admitted  the  su- 
preme power,  the  supernatural  might,  of  our  holy  relig- 
ion— nay,  its  very  celestial  origin — for  it  has  taken  hold 
of  truths  floating  mistily  and  uncertainly  in  men's  minds, 
truths  that  have  touched  men's  hearts,  though  they  were 
heathen  hearts,  and  has  given  them  vitality  and  eternity, 
the  immortality  which  is  its  peculiar  gift,  and  robed  them 
in  vestments  of  beauty  and  loveliness,  in  garments  of 
regeneration  and  heaven-born  purity.  But  the  poets 
of  the  first  two  centuries  did  not  look  so  far  abroad  as 
this.     They  were  almost  entirely  confined  to  the  Hebrew 


EARL  V  RITUAL   POETR  Y.  5  I 

world  of  thought,  either  having  been  born  in  it  or  at 
conversion  largely  passing  under  its  sway.  Their  hymns 
are  neither  polished  nor  ornate ;  they  have  little  or  none 
of  the  finish  of  the  classic  odes  and  songs;  they  are  not 
metrical,  but  fall  into  the  Hebrew  parallelism — not  ex- 
actly an  imitation,  save  in  a  loose  sense,  only  more  like 
that  than  anything  else.  They  look,  therefore,  very  like 
prose,  long  lines  and  short  lines,  abrupt,  terse,  unfinished, 
at  times  even  rude,  and  mostly  of  a  lower  type  than  the 
Hebrew  poetry,  because  none  of  the  early  Christian 
poets  had  the  fulness  and  power  of  the  genius  of  David 
or  Isaiah.  The  only  exception  to  this  assertion  is  the 
unknown  author  of  the  Te  Deum,  whose  work — speak- 
ing reverently — is  from  a  literary  point  of  view  equal  to 
anything  contained  in  the  Old  Testament,  and  superior 
to  anything  in  hymnology  written  since. 

And  it  is,  to  say  the  least,  remarkable,  if  the  revela- 
tion of  Jesus  Christ  be  untrue,  that  Judaism  should  sud- 
denly develop  into  Christianity — develop  in  the  course 
of  a  short  century  a  literature,  a  cultus  and  a  life  which, 
though  springing  out  of,  were  speedily  differentiated  from, 
those  of  the  Judaism  which  remained  in  its  undeveloped 
state.  Compare  the  Gloria  in  Excelsis  and  the  Clemen- 
tine Hymn  to  Christ,  or  the  golden-flowing  song  of 
Ambrose  and  Augustine,  with  the  Psalms  of  David, 
and  there  appear  both  a  form  and  an  expression  similar, 
clearly  from  the  one  source  or  model,  but  a  spirit  divides 
the  one  from  the  other,  making  the  one  a  near  song,  a 
song  of  soul-stirring  sweetness  close  at  hand,  distinct  in 
its  utterances  and  clear  in  its  melody,  and  the  other  like 
delightful  but  vague  music  which  floats  through  the 
evening  air  from  far-off  singers,  broken  by  the  winds, 


52  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

weakened  by  the  distance,  uncertain  and  confused,  and 
yet  with  a  positive  charm  and  an  undefined  grace  which 
move  the  imagination  and  send  the  memory  back  again 
to  life's  fond  summer  days.  Christ  is  in  the  Psalms,  but 
he  is  veiled,  clouded,  and  only  the  glory  shines  through 
the  mist — glory  like  that  of  Aurora  when  she  first  draws 
aside  the  clouds  of  the  morning  and  the  god  of  the  stream- 
ing sunlight  breaks  with  suffused  and  softened  radiance 
through  the  September  fog,  though  this  glory  has  glis- 
tened against  angel-robes,  and  is  therefore  more  wonder- 
ful ;  but  in  the  Christian  hymns  the  mists  have  all  passed 
away,  and  there  is  seen  Christ  clear  and  distinct,  the  robe 
of  pure  whiteness  falling  in  folds  of  grace  and  beauty  to 
his  feet,  the  diadem  of  empire  resting  upon  his  brow  and 
the  sceptre  of  righteousness  in  his  hand.  The  Christian 
song  tells  of  meridian  splendor  and  of  meridian  clearness, 
and  we  ask  who  lifted  the  veil,  who  removed  the  mist. 
At  what  moment  in  time  began  the  difference?  for  a 
difference  great  and  important  there  is.  Why  should  a 
Mary  sing  a  Magnificat  and  an  Ignatius  rise  up  into  a 
Trisagion?  Only  because  a  new  Life  has  come  into 
the  world,  even  Christ  the  Lord.  The  Church  in  its 
onward  flow  through  time,  like  a  great  river  proceeding 
out  of  the  throne  of  God,  its  springs  in  grace  and  its 
brooks  in  mercy  and  love,  has  reached  a  point  where  a 
change  mighty  and  decided  happens,  and  ever  after  it 
feels  the  results  of  that  change.  It  is  the  moment  when 
the  movement  of  the  ocean-tides  begins  to  make  itself 
felt  in  the  river-waters,  and  the  stream  is  moved,  enno- 
bled, rises  and  falls,  its  wavelets  and  its  undercurrents 
endowed  with  mightier  strength,  until  it  throbs  with  the 
force  and  life,  the  freedom  and  anticipation,  of  the  eter- 


EARLY  RITUAL   POETRY.  $3 

nal  sea.  Clement  could  not  write  the  lines  of  David, 
nor  could  David,  for  another  reason,  write  the  Hymn  to 
Christ ;  nay,  to  come  down  to  within  fifty  years  of  the 
divine  Advent,  the  writer  of  the  eighteen  hymns  known 
as  the  Psalter  of  Solomon  could  no  more  have  done  it 
than  could  the  inspired  singer  of  Israel. 

3.  And  as  in  the  early  ritual  hymns  we  may  discern 
the  development  of  Christianity  out  of  Judaism,  so  we 
may  also  see  the  value  attached  to  the  position  and 
authority  of  the  Jewish  Scriptures  by  the  Christian 
Church.  There  were  heretics  in  the  early  ages  as 
well  as  in  later  times  who  held  that  the  Old  Testa- 
ment was  altogether  contrary  to  the  New.  And  yet 
not  only  was  the  Old  Testament  publicly  read  in  the 
church,  but  the  Psalms  were — doubtless  from  the  days 
of  the  apostles,  certainly  from  the  sub-apostolic  age — 
sung  in  the  divine  service.  The  probability  is  that 
they  were  chanted  in  the  same  antiphonal  style,  to 
much  the  same  music  and  by  a  white-robed  choir,  as 
among  the  Jews.  It  is  a  mistake  to  suppose  that  the 
early  Church  was  so  plain  and  simple  as  to  reject  all 
ritual  and  ceremonial ;  on  the  contrary,  both  Jewish  and 
pagan  tastes  would  lead  to  an  ornate  mode  of  worship, 
and  while,  on  the  one  hand,  persecution  was  neither 
so  constant  nor  universal,  nor  yet  so  feared,  as  to  pre- 
vent the  Christians  from  doing  what  they  thought  best, 
so,  on  the  other  hand,  we  have  no  positive  disapproval 
— indeed,  no  implication  even  of  disapproval — from  the 
Lord  Jesus  of  a  complete  and  gorgeous  ritual ;  but  as  a 
matter  of  fact  we  know  that  both  he  and  his  apostles 
frequented  the  temple  and  took  part  in  acts  which  were 
symbolical,  liturgical,  sumptuous  and  ceremonial.     No 


54  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

proof  has  ever  been  advanced  from  the  New 'Testament, 
for  the  simple  reason  that  there  is  no  proof  forthcoming, 
against  the  continuance  of  this  Jewish  spirit  in  an  elab- 
orate and  ornamental  Christian  worship.  At  all  events, 
the  Psalms  entered  into  the  use  of  the  Church. 

But  the  hymns,  the  uninspired  hymns,  were  them- 
selves very  thoroughly  impregnated  with  Scripture. 
They  were  not  only  imbued  with  the  spirit  of  the  in- 
spired writings,  but  were  also  full  of  their  phraseology 
and  form.  No  better  illustration  of  this  exists  than  the 
Gloria  in  Excelsis,  which  is  almost  wholly  made  up  of 
words  from  the  sacred  book.  The  Trisagion  is  an  echo 
of  the  seraphic  song  recorded  by  Isaiah,  an  anticipation 
of  the  anthem  of  the  redeemed.  In  the  Clementine 
Hymn  to  Christ  there  is  the  same  stern  brevity,  the 
same  abruptness,  the  same  style  of  language  and  rapid 
change  of  figure,  which  mark  the  Hebrew  poetry,  while 
the  epithets  applied  to  the  Saviour  are  largely  scriptural. 
We  may  trace  Homer  in  Virgil  and  both  Homer  and 
Virgil  in  Dante  ;  we  may  discover  the  most  perfect  ex- 
pression of  Greek  poetic  thought  in  Keats  and  hear  the 
ring  of  the  old  ballads,  so  wondrously  sweet,  in  Chat- 
terton ;  and  we  may  find  the  words,  thoughts  and  emo- 
tions of  the  Old  Testament  in  the  early  Christian  poets, 
only  in  fuller  and  more  absolute  measure.  That  was  the 
mine  whence  they  gathered  their  jewelled  songs,  the 
garden  whence  came  the  flowers  they  wove  into  gar- 
lands of  glory  for  their  Lord.  Some  speak  of  them  as 
weak  and  worthless,  nor  have  they  the  power  of  inspira- 
tion ;  but  in  the  winter  morning  upon  the  window  the 
frost  depicts  the  figures  of  the  palms  that  grow  beside 
the  Nile,  the  tracery  of  forests  that  wave  beneath  south- 


EA  RL  Y  RITUAL  POETRY.  55 

ern  skies.  -And  these  old  ritual  poets,  though  they  have 
not  the  warmth  and  glow,  the  rapt  vision  and  soul-trance, 
of  Hebrew  poets,  yet  even  with  their  different  powers 
give  the  same  truths,  the  same  thoughts,  very  cop- 
ies of  what  is  accepted  as  divine;  so  that  men  look 
thereon  and  realize  that  they  came  forth  from  and  were 
moved  by  the  same  spirit.  There  is  the  impress  of  the 
word  of  God  upon  their  work,  clear,  distinct,  positive, 
even  as  the  outline  of  sun-shadows  in  the  summer  and 
the  rainbow-hues  upon  the  wings  of  birds  and  the  blos- 
soms of  flowers.  At  times  one  forgets  that  some  of 
these  hymns  were  uninspired,  so  like  are  they  unto 
their  divine  source — sprays  cast  off  by  an  earthly  foun- 
tain so  like  the  rain  that  falls  from  heavenly  clouds. 

Again,  in  this  clinging  to  Scripture  we  have  surely  an 
evidence,  if  not  directly  of  the  truth  of  Christianity,  yet 
certainly  of  the  sincerity  of  its  poets  and  professors. 
For  men  cannot  be  brought  into  so  close  contact  with 
not  the  mere  letter,  but  the  very  inner  spirit,  of  the 
word,  and  remain  conscious  deceivers;  nay,  the  very 
coloring  which  their  thoughts  receive  in  passing  from 
the  Old  Testament  into  the  form  of  their  hymns  neces- 
sitates the  fact  of  Christianity.  No  man  could  invent 
or  find  out  the  truths  of  which  they  write,  even  with 
the  Jewish  Scriptures  in  his  hand,  unless  fact  had  given 
him  the  key.  With  that  key  the  prophecies  are  plain, 
but  after  four  or  five  centuries  of  speculation  the  rabbin- 
ical schools  failed  utterly  to  evolve  anything  like  the  in- 
terpretation into  which  the  Christian  poets  fell  so  read- 
ily and  speedily.  Had  Christ  not  come,  no  one  would 
ever  have  seen  him  in  the  Psalms;  but,  having  come, 
then    the    Psalms    are   found   to   be  full  of  him.     The 


56  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

hymn-writers  went  to  the  Jewish  Scriptures — later  on, 
indeed,  to  pagan  authors — to  cull  figures  and  expres- 
sions for  use  in  a  system,  and  even  to  set  forth  a  system, 
that  no  honest  men,  true  poets  such  as  they  were,  could 
have  fabricated,  which  would,  indeed,  have  baffled  the 
most  ingenious  of  human  minds,  and  which  no  one 
could  hope  would  be  accepted  for  any  length  of  time 
by  any  number  of  thinking  people.  The  Hebrew  poets 
went  far  into  mystery — farther  than  Egyptian  or  Grecian 
seer — but  the  Christian  poets  went  farther  still,  on  the 
same  road  and  in  the  same  direction,  but  beyond,  even 
until  the  radiance  of  the  inner  glory  shone  round  about 
them. 

4.  And  then,  lastly,  in  these  early  poets  may  be  found 
the  testimony  to  Christ.  This  is  their  highest  evidential 
value,  and  is  of  especial  importance  in  answer  first  to 
those  who  hold  that  the  doctrine  of  the  deity  of  Christ 
was  an  after-thought,  a  development,  belonging  to  the 
Nicene  period,  and  secondly  to  those  who  deny,  if  not 
the  historic  fact,  yet  the  moral  significance,  of  the  re- 
demption. The  testimony  that  the  believers  sang  hymns 
and  psalms  to  Christ  as  divine  is  supported  not  only  by 
Christian  writers,  but  also  by  the  fragments  of  poetry 
which  remain.  In  them  is  direct  worship  of  the  Lord 
Jesus.  In  the  Gloria  Patri,  as  in  the  baptismal  words, 
the  Son  is  adored  and  placed  upon  the  same  level  as  the 
Father.  In  the  Gloria  in  Excelsis  he  is  the  "  Lord,"  the 
•*  Lord  God,"  the  only  Lord,  and  the  central  position  of 
that  eucharistic  hymn  is  given  up  to  the  Christ.  But  there 
is  a  difference  between  these  strictly  liturgical  hymns 
and  the  other  ritual  hymns  of  which  mention  has  been 
made.      These  are  subdued,  the   others  are  exultant ; 


EARLY  RITUAL   POETRY.  57 

these  are  sparing  In  their  use  of  figures,  the  others  are 
lavish  and  extravagant.  This  is  so,  perhaps,  because 
the  two  Doxologies  partake  as  much  of  the  nature  of  the 
Creed  as  of  the  hymn — that  is  to  say,  of  the  formal,  litur- 
gical Creed,  the  calm,  deliberate  and  authoritative  state- 
ment of  doctrine  ;  and  therefore  they  have  a  peculiar 
worth,  not  greater  than  that  of  other  hymns,  but  peculiar 
in  that  it  is  impossible  to  say  that  in  them  reason  has 
given  place  to  emotion,  though  emotion — real  poetic 
emotion — is  as  likely  to  be  true  as  is  reason  itself  The 
only  figures  used  in  the  one  case  are  those  of  "  son  " 
and  "  lamb,"  and  they  are  so  woven  into  both  Jewish 
and  Christian  teaching  as  almost  to  have  lost  their  met- 
aphorical character.  But  Clement's  Hymn  is  full  of  epi- 
thets. Jesus  is  the  Shepherd  of  royal  lambs,  the  King 
of  saints,  the  all-subduing  Word  of  the  most  high  Father, 
the  Ruler  of  wisdom,  the  Support  of  sorrows,  the  Saviour 
of  the  human  race,  the  heavenly  Wing  of  the  all-holy  flock, 
the  holy  King,  the  immeasurable  Age,  the  eternal  Light, 
the  Fount  of  mercy  and  the  God  of  peace.  From  first  to 
last  the  great  Alexandrian  never  loses  sight  of  the  redeem- 
ing Lord.  His  is  the  name  above  every  name ;  he  is  all 
and  in  all.  These  ascriptions,  these  characterizations, 
are  given  to  no  mere  man — or,  at  least,  to  one  whom 
the  writer  thought  to  be  mere  man — but  to  One  whom 
he  believed,  whom  they  who  sang  his  words  believed, 
to  be  God  over  all,  blessed  for  evermore.  And  it  is  per- 
haps worthy  of  note  that  in  the  age  of  doctrinal  purity 
in  which  these  lines'  were  written  there  is  neither  the 
deifying  of  humanit}^  nor  the  carnalizing  of  deity  which 
in  the  corrupt  mediaeval  times  entered  so  largely  into 
Christian   theology.     The  best  test  of  the  apostolicity 


58  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

and  the  purity  of  the  Anglican  faith  is  that  they  who 
profess  that  faith  feel  that  Clement's  hymn  is  their 
hymn;  it  expresses  exactly  their  belief  and  accords 
with  their  taste;  but  when  we  read  some,  not  all,  of 
the  mediaeval  hymns,  we  discern  a  gulf  between  us  and 
them — the  gulf  which  separates  a  pure  from  a  corrupt 
religion.  The  Catholic  faith  is  that  the  Lord  Jesus  is 
perfect  God  and  perfect  man,  and  therefore  his  sacred 
body  never  becomes  divine  nor  his  deity  human.  How, 
then,  can  it  be  right  to  give  worship  to  his  blood  or  his 
face  or  his  heart  or  his  wounds  ?  The  total  absence  of 
this  spirit  from  the  early  hymns  proves  its  innovation, 
and  therefore  probable  error ;  the  lack  of  sympathy  with 
it  in  the  intelligent  Christian  tests  his  adherence  to  the 
faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints. 

The  beautiful  hymn  used  by  the  early  Christians  at 
the  lighting  of  the  evening  lamps  has  already  been 
mentioned.  The  darkening  shadows  thickened,  night 
came  on  apace,  and  as  the  lights  were  being  kindled  the 
words  of  adoration  were  offered  up  to  Christ : 

"  Hail,  gladdening  Light  of  his  pure  glory  poured !" 

The  Nicene  Creed  catches  the  echo  of  that  line  when  it 
affirms  Christ  to  be  "  Light  out  of  light " — the  glory 
streaming  through  the  world's  gloom  from  the  throne 
of  Majesty.  It  has  been  in  all  ages  the  favorite  figure 
of  Christ,  drawn  from  prophetic  utterance,  used  of  him- 
self by  himself,  suggested  by  innumerable  analogies  and 
by  pagan  conceptions.  And  to  the  ancients  light  was 
itself  a  thing  divine ;  the  Greeks  personified  it,  the  pure, 
rich  sunlight,  by  Apollo,  he  who  rode  in  his  chariot  of 
splendor  up  through  the  gates  of  the  east,  across  merid- 


EARLY  RITUAL   POETRY.  59 

ian  heavens,  until  his  tired  steeds  refreshed  themselves 
in  the  western  waters — he  who  brought  daily  restoration, 
passionate  gladness,  perfect  life,  bright  hopes  and  new 
strength  to  the  sons  of  men  and  made  nature  itself  lovely, 
the  birds  to  sing  with  joy,  the  flowers  to  bloom  with 
grace,  and  the  sea-waves  to  glitter  and  gleam  with  daz- 
zling brightness  and  pour  their  milk-white  breaking 
crests  into  the  billowy  depths  of  darkened  purple. 
Such  was  light,  the  noble,  vigorous,  kind  Apollo,  to  the 
ancients — a  thing  divine,  a  person  equal  to  Demeter, 
Poseidon  and  Athenaia,  but  far  above  all  inferior  deities 
and  infinitely  far  above  man.  And  in  the  early  Chris- 
tian monuments  Apollo  becomes  Christ;  just  as  the 
poets  call  him  the  light,  so  the  sculptors  figure  him  by 
the  youthful,  beaming,  happy  Greek  god.  Had  they 
not  thought  of  Jesus  as  divine,  this  could  not  have  been, 
for  to  no  merely  human  being  fell  any  of  the  attributes  of 
pagan  deities :  they  all  flowed  back  again  to  Him  who 
is  God  of  all.  And  later  on,  just  as  light  had  been  used 
as  a  figure  of  Christ,  so  another  figure  came  in,  also  sug- 
gested by  Hebrew  prophets  and  Greek  singers  and  tend- 
ing to  support  the  same  truth — that  of  the  rose.  Not  only 
is  this  flower  the  most  beautiful  of  flowers,  but  it  is  also 
the  most  beautiful  result  or  expression  of  the  sun's  light 
on  earth — here,  of  the  pure  white,  the  snow  of  the  clouds ; 
there,  of  the  ruby  and  the  crimson  and  the  pink  of  the 
rainbow,  fragrant  and  lovely  as  though  formed  and  kissed 
by  angels.  And  to  the  Greeks  the  rose  expressed  the 
worship  of  the  light,  the  adoration  of  Apollo.  This 
Christ  inherits  because  he  is  divine ;  he  becomes  the 
Rose,  the  Light,  the  Sun.  When  the  early  Christians, 
therefore,  transferred  these  figures  from  their  old  gods 


60  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  Y. 

to  him,  seeing  in  the  flower  not  only  the  Incarnation, 
the  hght  taking  to  itself  an  earthly  form  and  earthly 
substance,  but  also  the  image  and  brightness  of  the  eter- 
nal glory,  and  in  the  light  the  Author  of  existence, 
health  and  happiness,  the)^  affirmed  his  deity;  for  to 
none  but  to  God  could  they  have  yielded  this  homage. 

Other  figures  and  metaphors  were  applied  by  the 
early  ritual  poets  to  Christ ;  let  this  be  an  indication  of 
the  wealth  and  beauty  which  lie  folded  up  in  them.  No 
need  is  there  to  show  how  this  affirmation  of  Christ's 
deity  goes  to  support  other  truths,  such  as  those  of 
the  Trinity,  the  Incarnation  and  the  Resurrection.  Fain 
would  we  refer  to  hymns  in  periods  later  than  these 
first  two  Christian  centuries,  to  hymns  that  are  dear  to 
the  Church — to  those  of  Ephraem  the  Syrian,  the  first 
voluminous  Christian  poet,  ascetic  and  gloomy,  yet  full 
of  noble  praise ;  to  those  of  Synesius ;  to  Methodius's 
"The  Bridegroom  Cometh;"  to  Bernard's  "Jesu  dulcis 
memoria;"  and  to  the  evening  hymn  of  Anatohus,  which 
to  the  present  day  is  sung  by  the  people  of  Chios  and 
Mitylene,  and  is  not  unknown  to  us : 

"  The  day  is  past  and  over  ; 

All  thanks,  O  Lord,  to  thee!" 

These,  however,  come  too  late  to  have  any  great  apolo- 
getic value,  priceless  though  they  be  in  a  spiritual  and 
literary  sense.  They  are  full  of  Christ,  tributes  of  genius 
laid  at  his  feet,  incense  of  piety  ever  going  up  to  his 
throne,  anticipations  of  the  praise  that  shall  be  ren- 
dered him  when  the  days  of  this  tribulation  shall  be 
overpast  and  every  child  of  God  shall  see  him  as  he  is. 
It  may  perhaps  be  said  that  there  were  also  heretical 


EARLY  RITUAL   POETRY,  6 1 

and  even  pagan  hymns.     The  former,  however,  finding 
no  echo  in  humanity  and  having  no  gift  of  hfe,  have 
perished ;    the   latter,  though  generally  inferior  to  the 
best  of  Christian  lyrics,  are   not  without  some  verity. 
Here  and  there  a  line  flashes  out  of  the  darkness  of  a 
heathen  poet  and  lights  up  the  soul ;  it  has  power  and 
vitality  to  touch  the  brighter  and  better  conscience.    And 
herein,  as  already  pointed  out,  lies  one  of  the  tests  of  true 
poetry.     It  cannot   deceive ;  men  feel  that  the  poet  ex- 
presses their  emotions  and  thoughts,  and  puts  into  living 
and  imperishable  words  that  which  passes  through  their 
own  hearts  and  minds.     The  hymn  is  as  the  flute  played 
under  a  great  bell.     Sound  the  right  note,  and  then  the 
clear  silvery  rill  quivers  in  response.    To  every  other  note 
the  bell  is  silent;  only  one,  and  that  the  right  one,  has  the 
power.     And  the  singers  sing  in  the  church  ;  and  when 
they  sing  the  right,  true  song,  then  the  Church  responds, 
the  great  Christian  heart  replies.     The  early  ritual  poets 
have  had  their  answer.     The  Glorias,  the  Trisagion,  the 
^ce>c  IXapov,  the  hymn  of  Clement,  have  stirred,  and  will 
stir  through  all  the  ages,  the  souls  of  men — stirred  them 
to    higher  and  sublimer  hope   and  faith,  stirred  them 
till    they   perforce    have    sung   their    **  Alleluia !"   and 
"  Amen !"    stirred  them   till  they  have  forgotten  earth 
with  all  its  sorrows  and  cares  and  sins,  and  have  thought 
themselves  amid   the  white-robed  choir  of  saints   and 
angels  in  the  very  presence  of  the  King. 


CHAPTER   III. 

A  MOVEMENT  such  as  monasticism,  which  retained  its 
vigor  and  glory  for  more  than  a  thousand  years,  and 
during  that  period  took  a  prominent  part  in  the  propa- 
gation and  in  the  definition  of  the  faith,  must  needs 
demand  attention  and  study.  Its  consequences  remain 
though  it  has  passed  away.  By  its  efforts  the  Teutonic 
and  Keltic  lands  of  Europe  were  converted  to  Christian- 
ity; in  ages  of  ignorance  and  oppression  it  afforded 
within  the  houses  which  it  established  a  refuge  to  the 
weak  and  the  needy,  a  home  to  the  scholar  and  the  re- 
cluse; and  throughout  its  millennium  of  life  its  voice 
was  ever  on  the  side  of  order  and  conservatism  in  mat- 
ters both  ecclesiastical  and  devotional.  That  in  the  six- 
teenth century  it  was  well  it  should  as  a  system  be  brok- 
en up  few  students  of  its  later  history  will  deny,  but 
that  it  is  to  be  judged  throughout  its  entire  career  by 
the  years  of  its  decline  and  decay  is  manifestly  unjust. 
It  had  done  its  work,  accomplished  its  purpose,  and 
then  it  naturally  and  as  a  matter  of  course  passed  away 
— not  so  much,  after  all,  from  outside  pressure  as  from 
inside  worthlessness.  But,  humanly  speaking,  in  earlier 
ages  it  is  next  to  certain  that  the  monastery  was  indis- 
pensable to  the  preservation  not  only  of  literature  and 
of  art,  but  also  of  society  and  of  the  Church.     With- 

62 


THE  SOLITARY  LIFE.  63 

out  monachism  much  that  we  now  cherish  would  have 
been  lost. 

Yet  this  was  not  the  object  with  which  the  system 
came  into  being ;  such  a  work  was  a  development  un- 
foreseen and  undesigned,  and  in  itself  indicated  a  par- 
tial falling  away  from  the  original  purpose.  The  ancho- 
rets of  the  wilderness  could  not  have  dreamed  of  estab- 
lishments after  the  fashion  of  Glastonbury ;  such  an 
evolution  was  certainly  far  outside  the  range  of  their 
imagination.  And,  though  the  abbey  grew  out  of  the 
hermitage  and  the  community  out  of  the  solitary,  and 
were  therefore  organically  connected,  yet  the  one  pre- 
sents a  far  different  aspect  and  accomplishes  an  alto- 
gether different  work  than  the  other.  Possibly  it  will 
also  be  held  that  one  had  a  romance  and  a  poetry  which 
the  other  had  not,  only  it  is  doubtful  if  as  a  whole  to 
its  inmates  and  contemporaries  the  monastery  appeared 
otherwise  than  as  plain,  severe  and  commonplace.  We 
have  thrown  upon  it  the  charm,  and,  with  the  same  in- 
consistency with  which  we  condemn  the  mediaeval 
period  and  then  imitate  and  preserve  its  art,  literature 
and  buildings,  we  reject  and  glorify,  we  cherish  and  cast 
aside.  Still,  there  was  an  attraction  mighty  and  lasting 
which  led  men  to  give  up  all  and  live  the  life  *of  a 
brother. 

It  is  not  to  the  development  of  monachism  as  it  pre- 
sented itself  after  the  time  of  Benedict,  but  to  the  causes 
and  to  the  first  beginnings  of  the  system,  that  we  would 
direct  attention.  A  similar  spirit,  indeed,  had  existed 
in  heathen  religions,  and  also  notably  among  the  Jews 
of  the  late  pre-Christian  age. 

The  earliest  mention  of  the  Jewish  sect  of  Essenes  is 


64  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY, 

about  150  B.  c,  and,  though  not  referred  to  by  name  in 
either  the  sacred  or  the  rabbinical  writings,  they  are  dealt 
with  at  spme  length  in  the  pages  of  Philo  and  Josephus. 
They  present  the  most  illustrious  and  the  most  extreme 
example  of  asceticism  in  the  ancient  world.  In  a  pe- 
riod of  swiftly-decaying  national  life,  when  irremediable 
corruption  was  driving  the  people  on  to  absolute  and 
unavoidable  ruin,  and  vice  and  dishonor  reigned  in  high 
places  and  existed  unchecked  among  the  masses,  they 
sought  by  absolute  separation  from  the  world  and 
by  deeds  of  self-abnegation  and  denial  to  obtain  that 
satisfaction  which  can  flow  only  from,  pure  and  uninter- 
rupted communion  with  God,  It  is  certain  that  to  their 
original  Judaism  they  added  speculations  derived  from 
pagan  sources,  for  in  the  little  we  know  of  their  relig- 
ious doctrines  and  views  there  are  unmistakable  traces 
of  the  teachings  of  Pythagoras,  Plato  and  Zoroaster — 
a  strange  mingling  with  the  truth  of  the  Old  Testament 
of  Parseeism,  Stoicism  and  general  Greek  philosophy. 
These  exoteric  drifts  may,  indeed,  have  flowed  into  the 
system  partly  during  the  captivity  in  Babylon,  but  it  is 
most  likely  they  were  the  gatherings  of  a  transitional 
and  eclectic  age  when  old  ideas,  having  been  weighed 
in  tKe  balances  and  found  wanting,  were  supplemented 
and  interpreted  by  new  thoughts  from  outside  sources. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  though  the  Essenes  bound  themselves 
by  terrible  oaths  to  the  most  profound  secrecy  concern- 
ing their  principles,  there  is  no  doubt  that  they  were 
absorbed  in  theosophic  speculations  and  tinged  with  the 
Oriental  doctrine  of  the  essential  and  eternal  impurity 
and  sinfulness  of  matter. 

The  practical  aim  of  their  system  was,  therefore,  to 


THE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  6$ 

bring  the  soul  out  of  its  corrupting  bondage,  to  subdue 
and  conquer  the  flesh — the  source  of  defilement  and  the 
cause  of  estrangement  from  God — and  to  give  to  the 
mind  not  only  supremacy,  but  also  absolute  possession. 
Many  of  the  means  used  to  this  end  were  in  them- 
selves of  the  highest  worth.  Justice,  truth,  honesty,  the 
reverence  for  and  obedience  to  authority  and  an  unsel- 
fish benevolence  to  one  another  and  to  mankind  in  gen- 
eral were  virtues  not  only  commended,  but  rigorously 
enforced  and  constantly  practised.  The  pursuit  of  agri- 
culture and  necessary  trades  rather  than  that  of  com- 
merce was  ordained  as  most  conducive  to  the  highest 
moral  and  physical  health.  The  brethren  lived  in  small 
communities  scattered  throughout  Palestine;  they  gave 
up  their  possessions  and  wages  and  avoided  the  accumu- 
lation of  wealth ;  officers  elected  by  the  society  admin- 
istered its  rules  and  enforced  unquestioning  obedience ; 
and,  though  there  were  no  vows  of  silence,  no  penances 
and  no  self-chastisement,  yet  there  was  a  tranquil  and 
holy  atmosphere  in  the  "  house  "  strangely  and  delight- 
fully in  contrast  to  that  which  existed  in  the  world. 
Bread  and  vegetables,  given  in  two  daily  meals  and  pre- 
pared by  the  special  officers  of  the  community,  were 
alone  allowed  for  food ;  meat  and  wine  were  positively 
forbidden.  Before  the  dawn  the  brethren  arose  from 
slumber,  and  as  the  sun-rays  spread  over  the  earth,  with 
faces  turned  to  the  light,  they  said  their  morning  prayer. 
Possibly  they  may  have  offered  their  intercession  and 
adoration  to  the  sun — not  as  in  itself  divine,  but  as  the 
fullest  expression  and  most  constant  reminder  of  the 
power  and  glory  of  the  Creator ;  a  touch  of  Parseeism, 
also  a  metaphysical  distinction  which  has  by  no  means 

5 


66  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

passed  away.  They  then  began  their  round  of  daily 
pursuits,  consisting  of  repeated  lustrations,  hours  of 
contemplation  and  seasons  of  labor.  All  excitement 
was  avoided :  a  conversation  void  of  any  aberration  of 
passion,  hasty  utterance  or  undue  interest  and  a  content- 
ment shadeless  of  murmuring  were  needful  if  the  soul 
would  enter  the  higher  calm.  If  they  rejected  all  pleas- 
ure as  evil,  theirs  was  the  first  society  in  the  world 
which  condemned  slavery  and  forbade  war.  Nor,  ex- 
cept in  the  solitary  instance  of  initiation  to  their  mys- 
teries, did  they  consider  a  vow  or  an  oath  lawful ;  the 
Essene,  being  taught  the  majesty  of  truth  and  the  dis- 
grace and  filth  of  falsehood,  was  satisfied  with  simple 
affirmation.  Marriage  was  repudiated — not  so  much 
on  account  of  any  supposed  impurity,  but  because  the 
brethren  were  convinced  of  the  artfulness  and  fickleness 
of  the  sex ;  nevertheless,  they  adopted  children  and 
brought  them  up  in  their  principles.  Adults  only  were 
admitted  to  the  society,  and  at  the  beginning  of  the 
three  years'  novitiate  the  candidate  was  presented  with 
the  three  emblems  of  purity-^^the  spade,  the  apron  and 
the  white  dress.  The  clothes  and  the  shoes  were  not 
renewed  until  they  were  torn  in  pieces  or  worn  com- 
pletely away. 

A  community  thus  separated  from  the  busy  world  and 
observing  a  life  such  as  is  here  presented  was  not  with- 
out influence.  Their  countrymen  saw  in  their  unselfish 
behavior  a  reproof  and  in  their  teachings  a  mystery. 
They  were  rigorous  in  their  observance  of  the  Sab- 
bath and  determined  in  their  loyalty  to  Moses ;  they 
also  knew  things  hidden  from  the  great  body  of  Jews, 
secrets  and  rites  which  they  had  gathered   from  lofty 


THE   SOLITAR  V  LIFE.  6/ 

and  strange  religionists,  and  which  by  contemplation 
and  prayer  they  had  clarified.  Pure,  unselfish,  truth- 
ful, simple  in  their  habits ;  abstemious  in  their  food 
and  gentle  in  their  demeanor;  kind  to  the  sick  and  the 
afflicted ;  hospitable  to  strangers ;  obedient  to  that  dis- 
cipline which  by  continual  mortification  of  the  body 
wrought  the  purification  of  the  soul ;  avoiding  alike  the 
wines  of  the  banquet,  the  ointments  and  perfumes  of  the 
lavatory  and  the  dress  of  the  worldling ;  strictly  honest, 
chaste,  industrious,  peaceful  and  devout, — the  Essenes 
were  among  the  men  of  their  day  inimitable  as  the  sun- 
dyed  ripples  on  the  darkened  stream  and  unapproach- 
able as  the  pure  lighted  snow  upon  the  mountain-peaks. 
To  themselves  the  result  of  their  life  was  highly  satis- 
factory. Not  only  did  they  live  healthily  and  to  a  great 
age,  but  they  also  obtained  freedom  from  the  evil  influ- 
ences of  matter,  a  command  over  nature,  the  power  of 
prediction  and  miraculous  cures,  and,  above  all,  fellow- 
ship with  the  divine. 

Though  Jews,  they  did  not  frequent  either  synagogue 
or  temple.  Every  meal  was  to  them  a  sacrifice,  and  they 
had  their  own  teachers  and  their  own  priests ;  the  one 
instructed  them  in  their  mysteries,  the  other  prepared 
their  food.  The  Scriptures  were  interpreted  allegori- 
cally.  In  lustrations  they  approached  the  Pharisees ; 
in  their  denial  of  the  resurrection,  the  Sadducees ;  but 
the  former  was  not  merely  to  conform  with  ritual  law, 
nor  did  the  latter  arise  from  a  rationalistic  tendency. 
Matter  was  evil ;  the  spirit  which  had  been  enticed  and 
beguiled  into  the  body,  and  by  it  made  both  a  prisoner 
and  a  sinner,  needed  to  be  freed  from  its  pollution ;  and 
when  freed  the  body  would  perish  for  ever.     The  flesh 


68  READINGS  iSf  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

was  the  cause  of  all  wickedness,  and  the  design  and  aim 
of  the  present  life  was  to  break  away  from  its  bond- 
age of  corruption  and  regain  pristine  and  pure  liberty- 
When  dissolution  came,  the  soul  of  the  good  would 
leave  its  prison-house  and  joyously  wing  its  way  to  the 
land  beyond  the  ocean — to.  the  country  oppressed  by 
neither  rain  nor  snow  nor  heat,  but  refreshed  by  a  gen- 
tle west  wind  blowing  continually  from  the  sea.  There 
could  be  no  resurrection,  no  rebinding  of  the  freed  spirit 
to  the  impure  material ;  the  husk  had  been  cast  off  for 
ever,  and  the  apotheosis  of  death  was  the  end  of  all 
contact  with  this  world.  This  sublime  though  pagan 
assumption  was  the  keynote  of  the  Essenic  life  and 
principles.  It  has  its  echoes  from  Persian  philosophy 
and  its  coloring  from  Grecian  myths. 

The  community  does  not  seem  at  any  time  to  have 
numbered  more  than  four  thousand  souls.  Its  chief 
settlement  was  on  the  western  shores  of  the  Dead  Sea, 
where  amid  the  weird  and  lonely  desolation  Nature  in 
her  bright  moods  covers  the  water  with  sapphire  tints 
and  the  mountains  with  variegated  hues,  and  in  her 
darker  moments  brings  the  thick  mist  or  the  deadly 
heat  creeping  over  the  barren  rocks,  banishes  every  sign 
of  life  from  human  ken,  and  makes  the  awful  silence 
more  intense  by  the  dull  surging  of  the  waves  as  they 
break  upon  the  salt-encrusted  shore.  In  this  wilder- 
ness, far  from  the  haunts  of  men,  the  brethren  sought 
the  peace  of  God.  Some,  less  favored,  lived  and 
worked  elsewhere;  these  looked  beyond  the  hills  of 
Moab  for  the  Light-giver,  watched  the  stars  drop  their 
tiny  rays  upon  the  dark  sea,  listened  to  the  imprisoned 
and  impassioned  spirit  of  Nature  as  in  the  lone  winds 


TIPE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  69 

the  cry  of  sorrow  passed  through  the  ravine,  and  waited 
in  patience  till  the  day  when  the  soul  should  go  back 
again  to  its  home  beyond  the  floods  of  the  pure  blue 
ether.  Whether  they  escaped  opposition  or  were  able 
to  maintain  inviolate  their  high  rule  of  morality  we 
know  not;  only  it  would  seem  that  the  Mishnah 
pointed  at  them  when  it  prohibited  the  public  reading 
of  the  law  by  any  except  those  who  wore  a  colored 
dress,  and  it  is  certain  that  for  some  breaches  of  law 
excommunication  was  contemplated,  if  not  enforced. 
This  punishment  was  equivalent  to  starvation  and 
death,  for  the  culprit  was  bound  by  oath  and  by  con- 
viction not  to  touch  food  prepared  by  any  except  the 
officers  of  the  society. 

The  Essenes  disappeared  during  the  wars  in  which 
Jerusalem  fell.  Their  principles  passed  into  other 
forces  and  had  their  expression  in  other  forms,  but  the 
society  itself  perished  for  ever.  As  no  land  was  holy 
except  Palestine,  they  made  no  foothold  elsewhere ;  in- 
deed, by  their  own  teaching  purity  elsewhere  was  neces- 
sarily impossible.  The  spirit,  however,  which  had  pro- 
duced them,  and  the  example  which  they  set,  led  to  the 
creation  in  other  lands  of  societies  similar  in  aim  and 
like  in  development. 

Egypt  was  the  birthplace  of  Christian  monachism. 
From  that  land  of  mystery  and  mysticism  went  out 
the  spirit  which  overspread  Christendom  and  gave  to 
the  religion  of  Jesus  a  new  expression  and  to  some 
phases  of  the  older  systems  a  new  life.  Possibly  the 
same  causes  which  led  to  its  development  there  would 
have  tended  independently  and  in  like  manner  to  its  de- 


70  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

velopment  elsewhere,  but  it  was  from  Egyptian  example 
and  from  Egyptain  disciples  that  the  kindling  enthusi- 
asm proceeded — the  spark  which  set  into  a  widespread 
and  irresistible  fire  the  material  ready  to  hand.  Then 
ancient  illustrations  and  modern  emotions  and  needs 
received  a  vital  and  ready  application. 

Christianity  in  establishing  itself  in  Egypt  had  rapid- 
ly made  its  way  among  two  widely-dissimilar  elements 
of  the  population.  Both  foreigners  and  natives  had  felt 
its  influence  and  come  under  its  sway.  The  Jews,  more 
cosmopolitan  and  commercial  than  their  brethren  of  Pal- 
estine, accepted  freely  the  faith  of  the  Crucified ;  the 
Greeks,  keensighted,  ever  ready  to  pry  into  new  theories 
and  to  adopt  new  views,  were  in  no  way  behindhand ; 
and  thus  in  Alexandria  was  speedily  built  up  a  strong 
church  which  became  a  power  not  only  in  the  evangel- 
ization of  Egypt,  but  also  in  the  evolution  and  expres- 
sion of  Christianity.  From  the  stranger- dwellers  the 
faith  spread  to  the  subject-people  of  the  land,  the  de- 
scendants' of  the  ancient  and  mighty  race  over  which 
the  Pharaohs  had  proudly  ruled,  now  the  tributaries 
and  helots  of  the  empurpled  and  powerful  Caesar. 
These,  religious  by  instinct  and  heredity,  having 
wearied  of  the  old  creed  and  seeing  in  Christianity  a 
doctrine  of  the  future  life  more  refined  than  that  which 
their  fathers  knew,  and  better  calculated  to  make  their 
life  of  servitude  bearable,  with  avidity  and  joy  accepted 
the  gospel.  To  them  the  socialism  of  Christianity  and 
its  theory  of  suffering  were  peculiarly  attractive ;  they 
were  thereby  taught  the  brotherhood  of  man  and  the 
power  of  bearing  ill  for  Christ's  sake.  A  bond  of  union 
deeper  and  more  sympathetic  than  aught  else  could  pro- 


THE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  7 1 

duce  was  brought  about  between  them  and  the  large 
mass  of  Europeans  and  Asiatics  in  their  midst.  The 
mingled  races,  one  in  Christ  Jesus,  whose  system  rec- 
ognized neither  Jew  nor  Greek,  bond  nor  free,  knelt 
together  before  a  common  altar  and  worshipped  and 
obeyed  a  common  Lord. 

But  the  two  elements  naturally  and  essentially  dif- 
fered ;  they  were  one  in  the  faith,  but  they  looked  upon 
the  faith  from  varying  positions.  The  spirit  of  the  for- 
eigners was  philosophical ;  that  of  the  natives  was  mys- 
tical. The  one  would  thoughtfully  and  systematically 
examine  into  and  define  the  doctrines  and  principles  of 
religion ;  the  other  would  rather  look  upon  the  worth- 
lessness  of  things  visible  and  temporal,  and  by  contem- 
plation, fasting  and  prayer  seek  to  bring  the  soul  into 
ecstatic  communion  and  absolute  fusion  with  God. 
This  latter  view,  while  speculative  and  visionary,  was 
all-powerful  in  its  grasp  upon  the  mind,  enabling  it,  in 
its  efforts  to  overcome  the  alienation  between  God  and 
man,  to  stifle  and  sacrifice  self  and  its  affections,  to 
sever  the  present  irretrievably  and  completely  from  the 
past,  and  to  conclude  itself  interpenetrated  with  and 
able  both  to  see  and  to  taste  the  essence  of  deity.  It 
is  subjective  and  introspective,  destroying  self-gratula- 
tion,  ethical  responsibility,  masculine  energy  and  phil- 
osophical activity.  -It  is  passive,  sensuous  and  feminine 
— the  material  out  of  which  are  alike  developed  the 
holiness  which  makes  the  saint  and  the  morbidity  which 
belongs  to  the  madman.  In  this  soil  grew  the  seeds  of 
monachism,  and  it  is  worthy  of  reflection  that,  as  the 
religion  of  Egypt  had  influenced  Mosaism,  so  now  in 
another  form  it  influenced  Christianity. 


72  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Mysticism  was,  however,  rather  the  receptive  princi- 
ple than  the  predisposing  cause,  for  mysticism  alone 
could  scarcely  have  produced  so  rapid  and  luxuriant  a 
growth.  Other  factors  came  in,  stronger,  more  imme- 
diate and  more  pronounced,  and,  though  some  of  these 
more  decidedly  prepared  the  way  and  strengthened  the 
structure  of  the  system  in  other  lands,  yet  all  were 
present  and  active  in  Egypt. 

Among  the  first  of  the  causes  leading  to  monachism 
was  that  love  of  retirement  and  meditation,  that  inclina- 
tion to  repose  and  quiet,  natural — or,  at  least,  common — 
in  lands  bordering  on  vast  deserts  and  of  warm  climate. 
Great  heat  is  not  conducive  to  active,  practical  life;  hence 
even  the  Greeks  and  the  Romans,  though  they  had 
subjugated  the  land  of  the  Pharaohs,  were  in  their  turn 
overthrown  and  had  their  supremacy  destroyed  by  the 
inflowing  hosts  of  the  North.  Artistic  and  poetic  tastes, 
fervid,  sensuous  and  passionate,  are,  indeed,  created  and 
ripened  ;  imagination  attains  a  force  and  glow  of  un- 
equalled intensity ;  splendor  of  architecture,  brilliancy 
of  habit  and  sententiousness  of  speech  have  a  magnif- 
icent and  fantastic  display ;  and  all  that  tends  to  a  luxu- 
rious and  voluptuous  indolence  is  developed.  Glories 
such  as  the  cold  Transalpine  countries  of  Europe  can 
only  dream  of  had  their  living  reality  on  the  banks  of 
the  Ganges,  the  Euphrates  and  the  Nile.  The  social 
life  of  the  nineteenth  century  has  few  such  rich  colors 
or  exquisite  expressions  as  those  which  adorned  the 
civilization  of  Egypt  when  in  the  undulations  of  its 
progress  its  lines  rose  like  pinnacled  peaks  luminous 
with  clouds  and  painted  with  sunbeams  into  heights 
of  splendid  prosperity,  and  mighty  princes  built  the  pyr- 


THE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  73 

amids,  and  the  house  of  the  Ramessides  subdued  nations. 
But  such  warm  magnificence  is  neither  enduring  in  time 
nor  precious  in  value.  Whatever  happiness  it  may  have 
given,  however  beautiful  the  visions  of  glory  it  may  have 
shown,  the  most  constraining  tendency  of  the  people  of 
the  heated  meridiana  has  ever  been  to  restfulness.  Their 
greatest  happiness  lies  in  inaction.  When  a  strange  lord 
ruled  over  the  cities  and  the  bright  green  fields  beside 
the  Nile,  there  was  still  peace  in  the  deserts  beyond 
the  limestone  hills.  In  the  solitude,  beside  some  palm- 
shaded  spring  in  the  wilderness,  the  recluse  could  find 
his  highest  felicity  and  dream  his  fondest  dreams. 
No  more  awful  figure  of  the  desolation  of  the  human 
heart  and  of  the  emptiness  of  human  life  could  he  find 
than  was  afforded  in  those  seas  of  silent  sand  and  that 
sky  of  cloudless  heat.  Undisturbed  by  even  so  much 
as  the  winds  of  heaven,  he  could  contemplate  himself 
and  his  God,  the  red  glow  of  sunshine  creeping  from 
far  across  the  expanse  suggesting  the  dawn  of  that  day 
when,  as  the  light  envelops  and  drowns  in  glory  all 
things,  so  the  Deity  shall  be  all  and  in  all,  the  dying 
radiance  in  the  west  teaching  that  the  time  is  not  yet. 
It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that  this  love  of  retirement 
had  for  every  individual  so  great  a  result.  On  the  con- 
trary, being  a  tendency  evolved  largely  from  the  con- 
ditions of  climate,  it  oftentimes  ended  in  simple  indo- 
lence. Souls  differ.  Noble  and  exalted  spirits  are  not 
common  even  now  among  men  ;  by  far  the  greater  num- 
ber are  ruled  by  selfishness  and  animality.  Only  here 
and  there  is  one  found  of  lofty  excellence  and  sublime 
devotion  in  whom  the  spiritual  nature  prevails  over  the 
sensual,  and  in  whose  life  the  image  of  God  shines  with 


74  READINGS   IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

a  pure  light  and  a  gentle  grace.  Faults  in  such  there 
will  be — lines  and  shadows  cast  upon  the  purity  from 
the  surroundings  of  evil,  discords  from  the  chaos  of  sin 
mingling  with  the  heaven-given  calm — but  they  will  be 
made  to  bring  out  in  bold  relief  the  virtues  and  to  has- 
ten the  soul  on  to  its  higher  destiny.  Only,  while  in  a 
clime  such  as  that  of  England  such  a  spirit  would  find 
its  sphere  in  active  work,  in  religious  and  philanthropic 
enterprises,  in  a  land  such  as  Egypt  it  would  instinct- 
ively turn  to  the  lonely  quiet  and  the  trancelike  medi- 
tation. Undoubtedly,  the  busy  merchant  in  Alexandria 
or  the  driver  of  the  camels  across  the  desert  would  have 
the  more  commonplace — some  may  say  the  more  com- 
mon-sense— view  of  religion  and  be  content  with  saying 
his  prayers  and  doing  his  alms,  but  then  neither  the 
merchant  nor  the  driver  would  possess  that  nature  which 
like  the  pellucid  dewdrop  can  bear  the  delicate  tints  of 
soft  sunbeams.  They  would  be  of  coarser  mould — good, 
perhaps,  upright,  honest,  thrifty,  but  of  ruder,  denser 
material,  and  not  only  indifferent  to  the  higher  spiritual 
life,  but  positively  ignorant  of  it.  From  their  midst, 
perhaps  from  among  the  lads  who  cried  the  shopman's 
wares  or  goaded  the  camels'  sides,  would  spring  up 
some  one  who  as  by  an  inspiration  would  be  possessed 
with  desires  which  mundane  pursuits  can  never  satisfy, 
and  whose  soul  would  crave  not  merely  for  peace  of 
mind,  but  for  complete  absorption  into  God.  Before 
such  a  one  would  lie  the  quiet  of  the  desert  and  the 
intensity  of  reflection. 

A  more  decided  cause  had  its  origin  in  the  Gnostic 
belief,  already  widely  prevalent  in  the  Church,  of  the 
essential  evil  of  matter.     This  belief,  held  by  the  pagan 


THE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  75 

Platonists,  and  even  approved  of  by  the  Jew  Philo,  was 
positively  denounced  by  Christian  teachers  such  as 
Clement  of  Alexandria,  who  held  that  matter  as  well 
as  spirit,  substance  as  well  as  form,  was  created  by  God. 
But  in  those  days  this  doctrine  alone  seemed  to  afford 
a  reason  for  the  imperfections  of  the  universe — pain,  sin, 
waste  and  inequality.  Thus  many  held  that  in  man  was 
a  duality  of  principles  or  natures — the  spirit,  made  in  the 
image  of  God  and  possessing  that  likeness  which  the 
illustrious  author  of  the  Pcedagogus  calls  the  "  love- 
charm  "  which  makes  man  dear  to  God  for  his  own 
sake ;  and  the  flesh,  sinful  not  merely  in  its  tendencies, 
but  also  in  its  very  being,  the  enslaver,  the  tempter  and 
the  destroyer  of  the  psychical  principle.  The  former, 
indeed,  at  one  time  had  been  a  pure,  free  spirit  abiding 
in  heavenly  regions  ;  it  had  been  enticed,  entrapped  and 
caught  by  the  body.  Its  life  was  now  a  struggle  for 
liberty,  a  desperate  effort  to  strip  itself  of  the  cerements 
of  sin  and  the  corruption  of  evil — of  this  gross  moisture 
of  decay.  The  shackles  of  flesh  bound  the  soul  in  ever- 
growing bondage.  It  was  led  on  from  iniquity  to  in- 
iquity, from  wickedness  to  wickedness,  its  once  white 
robe  dragged  in  the  blackening  mire  of  filth,  its  noble 
aspirations  daily  becoming  weaker,  its  pinions  of  faith 
by  which  it  had  been  borne  up  into  the  realms  of  pure 
realization  cut  even  as  the  fowler  clips  the  wings  of  the 
snare-bird,  and  before  it  there  were  naught  but  misery 
and  suffering  and  what  to  it  was  worse  than  either — the 
shame  and  bitterness  of  everlasting  sin.  In  such  a  view 
of  the  body  there  was  no  room  for  pleasure  in  its  graces 
or  for  delight  in  its  beauties.  The  most  exquisite  form, 
whether  displayed  in  the  strong  figure  of  man  or  in  the 


76  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

sweet,  sylph-lined  loveliness  of  the  woman,  was  an  ob- 
ject, not  of  admiration,  but  rather  of  warning  and  terror. 
There  was  not  merely  sin  in  the  body :  it  was  itself  sin ; 
and  the  more  perfect  its  strength  or  its  grace,  the  more 
complete  and  the  more  awful  its  evil.  Some,  indeed,  went 
so  far  as  to  teach  that  man  was  a  creation  of  the  powers 
of  darkness,  Adam  imbued  with  cupidity  and  Eve  with 
seductive  sensuousness.  The  object  of  religion,  the  duty 
of  existence,  was  now  for  the  soul  to  war  incessantly 
against  the  flesh,  its  twin-self — to  shun  the  allurements 
of  beauty  and  to  avoid  the  gratification  of  desire.  The 
body  must  not  be  pampered  or  in  any  way  indulged ;  on 
the  contrary,  it  should  be  tormented,  as  a  sentient  being, 
to  the  utmost  of  endurance.  If  it  wanted  ease  or  sleep,  it 
should  be  forced  to  toil  and  wakefulness ;  if  it  craved 
food,  it  should  be  compelled  to  fast ;  pain  should  be  its 
portion  and  unsatisfied  longing  and  unrelieved  degra- 
dation its  discipline.  It  was  a  wicked  thing,  an  emana- 
tion of  vileness,  an  offspring  of  Satan,  and  it  deserved  no 
better  treatment. 

Such  a  severe  and  inhuman  view  had  grown  out  of 
the  Zarathustrianism  of  Persia  and  the  Buddhaism  of 
India ;  it  had  met  with  favor  from  both  Jews  and  Hellen- 
ists, and  had  both  affected  the  Essenes  and  pervaded 
largely  primitive  Christian  faith  and  philosophy;  and 
in  Mani  of  Ecbatana  it  received  its  fullest  development. 
In  the  thoughtful  and  eclectic  church  of  Alexandria,  not- 
withstanding the  earnest  opposition  brought  against  it,  its 
influence  became  dominant,  while  to  the  popular  mind — 
to  the  man  who  had  adopted  Christianity  without  relin- 
quishing paganism — it  had  lively  attractions  and  gave 
considerable  satisfaction. 


THE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  yy 

Nay,  such  passages  as  the  latter  part  of  the  seventh 
chapter  of  the  Epistle  to  the  Romans  at  first  sight  to 
some  must  have  seemed  to  favor  this  view.  Further 
study  might,  indeed,  have  revealed  the  important  distinc- 
tion between  sin  as  a  separate  force  within  the  body  and 
sin  as  the  nature  of  the  body ;  but  when  the  Gnostic  or 
Manichaean  theory  had  once  taken  possession  of  the 
mind,  such  discriminations  would  have  had  little  force. 
Christ  himself  had  warned  the  disciples  not  to  take 
thought  for  the  body;  it  was  not  more  valuable  than 
the  fowls  of  the  air  or  the  grass  of  the  field,  and  was 
not  for  an  instant  to  be  compared  to  the  soul,  which  is 
divine  and  immortal.  True,  the  body  was  the  temple  of 
the  Holy  Ghost  and  the  flesh  would  rise  again,  but  that 
was,  if  literal,  only  after  the  intense  purification  of  fire, 
the  revivifying  of  dust  thrice  calcined  and  cleansed, 
and  if  allegorical  was  easily  made  consonant  with  this 
teaching. 

Thus  not  only  would  the  pure  and  earnest-minded 
Christian  of  the  East  have  the  tendency  to  separate  him- 
self from  his  fellows  and  in  solitary  places  think  the  deep 
thoughts  of  the  soul,  but  he  would  also  have  the  intense 
conviction  that  he  must  be  freed  from  an  essential  part 
of  himself  In  the  pursuits  and  comforts  of  social  life 
this  could  not  be  done ;  he  must  go  to  the  wilderness 
and  battle  there  alone. 

Equally  powerful  and  closely  similar,  but  not  neces- 
sarily connected,  was  the  principle  of  asceticism.  1  his 
too  was  of  pagan  origin,  and  was  common  among  the 
nations  of  the  Orient.  Mighty  in  its  influence  in  India, 
it  was  scarcely  less  decided  among  the  adherents  of 
Greek  philosophy.      Pythagoras  and   Socrates   insisted 


78  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

upon  its  practice;  in  the  Cynics  and  the  Stoics  it  had 
illustrious  exemplars;  the  Platonists,  the  Essenes  and 
the  Therapeutae  were  alike  under  its  influence ;  and  in  the 
systems  evolved  at  Alexandria  by  the  Neo-Platonic  and 
Neo-Pythagorean  schools  it  was  of  primal  importance. 
Christianity  itself,  at  once  both  a  revelation  and  an  evo- 
lution, vvith  ready  powers  of  adaptation  and  assimilation, 
became  imbued  with  the  universal  idea.  The  religious 
atmosphere  of  those  early  ages  was  filled  with  this 
supreme  theory  of  moral  and  religious  discipline,  and 
the  early  adherents  of  the  cross  were  not  less  positive  in 
their  practice  and  observance  than  were  the  pagan  relig- 
ionists. All  who  held  in  any  form  whatever  that  divine 
and  human  alienation  could  be  removed  only  when  the 
soul  was  absorbed  into  deity  also  held  tfiat  such  absorp- 
tion could  be  obtained  only  by  the  cultivation  of  the 
spirit  and  the  mortification  of  the  body.  They  might  or 
they  might  not  believe  in  the  evil  of  matter :  it  was  suffi- 
cient if  they  recognized  the  fact  that  the  attributes  and 
the  qualities  of  both  body  and  soul  were  made  the  means 
of  sin,  the  channels  of  wickedness.  Their  minds  were 
imbued  with  the  nothingness  of  things  temporal  and 
the  absolute  consequence  of  things  eternal,  the  tran- 
sitoriness  of  earthly  life  and  earthly  sorrows  and  pleas- 
ures, the  reality  underlying  the  phenomena  of  human 
existence  and  the  mysteries  of  human  destiny,  and, 
above  all,  the  sublime  and  awe-inspiring  fact  of  God. 
What  were  the  years  of  the  pilgrimage  beside  the  ages 
of  the  rest  ?  This  life,  compared  with  eternity,  is  but  a 
pin-point  in  a  boundless  ocean.  Its  joys  are  empty 
shadows ;  its  successes  or  failures,  of  small  moment. 
Through  the  ruined,  broken  walls  may  stream  the  light ; 


THE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  79 

indeed,  the  walls  are  reft  asunder,  sorrow  and  tribulation 
are  sent,  in  order  that  the  darkness  may  be  scattered  and 
the  gloom  pass  away.  Higher  than  all  the  sensual 
delights  of  earth,  the  realized  ambitions,  the  unresisted 
influence  and  the  inexhaustible  wealth  of  even  princes, 
were  the  pure  mind,  the  peaceful  conscience,  the  hope 
of  heaven  and  the  love  of  God,  These  transcendent 
blessings  were  to  be  gained  only  by  severe  and  con- 
stant discipline.  A  rigid  abstinence  from  all  things  not 
immediately  connected  with  the  loftiest  pursuits  of  re- 
ligion; self-sacrifice,  self-denial,  self-restraint,  fasting, 
prayer,  poverty,  obedience,  resignation  and  ceaseless 
concentration  of  thought  upon  the  divine, — these  were 
the  means  by  which  the  devout  of  either  pagan  or 
Christian  profession  might  rise  into  the  heights  of  celes- 
tial calm  and  win  the  benediction  of  the  Most  High. 
And,  though  with  wisdom  and  experience  Origen  says, 
"  I  do  not  think  any  one's  heart  can  become  so  pure  that 
thoughts  of  evil  never  stain  it,"  yet  few  in  these  latter 
days  are  prepared  to  censure  the  austere  and  rigid  sub- 
duing of  the  bodily  desires  by  which  the  men  of  those 
early  days  sought  to  enter  into  the  realization  of  the 
loftiest  and  grandest  ideals. 

They  in  whom  the  spirit  of  asceticism  dwells  in  fullest 
measure  are  generally  forgetful  of  their  duty  to  the  world 
in  which  God  has  placed  them.  The  elevation  of  one's 
own  self  is  the  all-controlling  design.  Neither  kindli- 
ness of  feeling  nor  liberality  of  judgment  is  manifested 
toward  those  who  are  not  as  they  are.  However  lumi- 
nous and  exultant  may  be  that  side  of  the  soul  which  is 
turned  heavenward,  that  which  is  shown  to  the  people 
of  earth  is  unmistakably  darksome  and  severe.     In  no 


8o  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

age  are  men  and  women  of  ordinary  flesh  and  blood, 
with  the  instincts  and  habits  of  nature  developed,  at  their 
ease  when  in  close  contact  with  those  whose  customs  are 
painfully  strict.  There  is  a  gulf  between  them,  and  the 
part  the  ascetic  takes  is  not  to  cast  across  that  gulf  the 
light  of  gladness  and  the  voice  of  encouragement,  but  to 
stand  in  the  glory  of  heaven  and  create  a  cold,  repellant 
shadow.  Separation  is  indeed  the  best  thing  for  both  : 
to  the  one  the  selfish  and  extravagant  claims  to  holiness 
and  to  the  other  the  indifference  and  laxity  of  life  are 
distressing  and  distasteful.  Nevertheless,  in  the  imme- 
diate post-apostolic  age  there  was  no  positive  attempt  on 
the  side  of  asceticism  to  seclusion.  Israel  and  the  mixed 
multitude  which  came  up  with  Israel  out  of  bondage 
dwelt  together  and  were  content  by  precept  and  example 
to  do  something  for  the  kingdom. 

The  Church  was,  indeed,  itself  ascetic,  and  for  all  its 
members  prescribed  a  strict  discipline.  Everything  that 
could  accentuate  the  fact  of  difference  between  Christian 
and  pagan  was  enjoined  and  enforced.  Even  St.  Paul 
forbade  marriages  with  unbelievers.  Stringent  regula- 
tions were  made  against  all  possible  connection  with 
idolatry.  Christians  were  to  have  no  part  in  building 
temples  or  in  making  images.  Tltey  were  neither  to 
sell  incense  for  heathen  worship  nor  to  buy  the  meat 
which  had  been  offered  to  idols.  To  attend  a  pagan 
service  or  to  practice  the  arts  of  divination,  magic  or 
enchantment  was  also  prohibited,  while  to  be  present  as 
a  spectator,  much  less  as  an  actor,  at  the  games  in  the 
cirque  or  at  the  plays  in  the  theatre  was  judged  deserv- 
ing of  excommunication.  Frequent  fastings,  simple 
habits   and    costumes,   abstinence   from    pleasures    and 


THE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  8 1 

businesses  condemned  by  the  Church  and  a  generally 
quiet  and  sober  conversation  distinguished  the  follow- 
ers of  Christ  from  the  rest  of  the  world.  To  become 
a  Christian  meant  the  giving  up  of  all  delight  in  earthly 
things,  the  sacrifice  of  tastes  and  practices  of  long  culti- 
vation, and  the  adoption  of  obedience,  service  and  purity. 
This  singularity  of  life — the  positive  refusal  to  have 
part  or  lot  in  their  pagan  neighbors'  social  or  religious 
life — provoked  bitter  hostility,  and  at  times  violent  per- 
secution. That  did  not,  however,  diminish  the  zeal  or 
daunt  the  courage  of  the  Christians  :  they  rejoiced  in 
tribulation  and  gloried  in  martyrdom. 

But  such  discipline  was  possible  only  when  the  Church 
was  small  in  numbers  and  uniform  in  mind.  Already 
has  it  been  shown  that  its  adherents  were  largely  from 
the  lower  and  lower-middle  classes — people,  as  a  rule, 
remarkable  neither  for  great  intellectual  gifts  nor  for 
elevated  moral  principles.  Rather  than  the  nobler 
grades  of  society  taking  the  cross,  it  was  the  refuse, 
the  waste  residuum,  the  discontented,  miserable  mass 
underlying  the  splendid  economic  structure  of  the  age. 
They  who  loved  the  mirthful  lines  of  Aristophanes,  the 
delicious  sensuousness  of  Sappho,  the  entrancing  crea- 
tions of  ^schylus  and  Sophocles  or  the  speculations 
of  Aristotle  and  Plato  could  not  readily  give  up  the 
life  evolved  and  fostered  by  such  poetry  and  philos- 
ophy, and  for  the  culture  and  wisdom  of  ages  accept  a 
system  which  was  great  only  in  potentialities  and  dar- 
ing pretensions.  The  rich  and  the  learned  looked  with 
contempt  upon  a  society  which,  while  consisting  of 
ignorant  and  low-bred  men,  boldly  denounced  as  con- 
trary to  truth  time-honored  institutions.  Even  cut  flow- 
6 


82  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

ers  might  neither  be  woven  in  the  wreath  of  the  bride  nor 
be  plaited  in  the  chaplet  of  the  hero,  much  less  used  in 
worship.  Nature  herself  was  likewise  set  aside.  What 
were  towering  mountains,  foam-fringed  seas,  green  for- 
ests, skies  thick-set  with  stars  or  bright  with  wondrous 
hues  and  tints,  waters  babbling  down  the  craggy  glen 
or  flowing  between  the  banks  of  tender  reeds,  gardens 
gay  with  flowers  and  refreshed  with  fountains,  singing- 
birds,  whispering  winds,  and  all  the  multitudinous  and 
multiform  delights  which  the  Lord  of  all  has  given  to 
his  creation, — what  were  these  to  the  man  who  saw 
nothing  but  a  world  ruined  by  sin  and  a  race  passing 
swiftly  to  destruction  ?  The  singers  of  Israel — David, 
Isaiah,  the  writer  of  the  book  of  Job,  and  the  Lord 
Jesus  himself — failed  not  to  read  lessons  in,  and  to  draw 
illustrations  from,  the  glories  of  heaven  and  earth ;  but 
with  the  Gospels  the  poetry  of  the  Scripture  ends,  and 
there  are  only  one  or  two  faint  attempts  to  recall  the 
spirit  which  stayed  to  look  at  the  lilies  of  the  field  or 
the  stars  of  heaven,  and  to  see  in  them  the  evidences  of 
a  Father's  love  and  the  assurances  of  a  Father's  power. 
Such  a  neglect  of  Nature  could  not  be  pleasing  to  the 
bright-minded  pagan.  Christianity  was  to  him  sour  and 
heavy.  To  offer  it  to  him  in  place  of  what  he  had  was 
like  giving  one  of  strong  imaginative  powers  Owen's 
Exposition  of  the  Hebrews  instead  of  Midsummer  Nighfs 
Dream,  Hence  in  the  palaces  of  the  mighty  it  was 
ignored  as  one  of  a  thousand  fantasies,  or,  if  noticed, 
its  customs  and  claims  served  only  to  sharpen  the  wit 
and  provoke  the  ridicule  of  the  wearers  of  purple  and 
fine  linen. 

But  as  the  years  went  on  the  mysterious  and  super- 


THE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  Z^ 

natural  might  of  the  new  religion  became  manifest.  If 
it  began  with  the  outcasts  of  the  people,  with  the  men 
who  were  strangers  to  the  courts  of  the  wealthy,  it  ended 
in  bettering  them  both  mentally  and  socially;  it  gave 
them  hopes  and  delights  of  more  staying-power  than 
the  priests  of  the  most  humane  pagan  cult  had  ever 
imagined;  and  it  showed  that  he  who  looked  with  faith 
upon  the  cross  was  by  it  drawn  up  into  the  realms  of 
purity,  truth,  endurance  and  love  far  higher  than  they 
could  possibly  attain  who  stood  upon  the  loftiest  peaks 
of  heathenism.  The  more  Christianity  was  studied,  the 
more  wonderful  it  appeared.  All  that  was  true  and 
lovely  in  the  religions  of  Greece,  of  Asia  and  of  Egypt 
was  in  it,  only  more  beautiful  because  separated  from 
the  accretions  of  dark  eras,  and  more  life-giving  because 
regenerate  and  sanctified.  The  joy  of  the  cross  shone 
out  as  a  brilliant  light,  and  people  who  once  had  laughed 
now  desired  the  grace  which  enabled  men  to  bear  suffer- 
ing without  murmuring,  and  even  to  praise  God  when 
face  to  face  with  the  lions  of  the  amphitheatre  or  endur- 
ing the  torture  of  the  fire.  So,  little  by  little,  the  relig- 
ion of  the  Nazarene  became  popular.  Rich  and  poor 
alike  embraced  its  principles  and  adopted  its  life.  The 
little  company  grew  into  a  great  multitude.  Through- 
out the  empire,  in  remote  country  places  as  well  as  in 
busy  cities,  it  had  its  clergy  and  congregations.  It  was 
as  the  upbursting  of  the  Orient  light ;  the  faint  unno- 
ticed tinge  upon  the  gloom  suddenly  gave  way  to  the 
brilliant  dawn,  and  the  signs  were  that  ere  long  the 
kingdoms  of  the  earth  would  become  the  kingdoms 
of  the  Lord  and  of  his  Christ. 

But  increased  numbers  had  a  twofold  effect  upon  the 


84  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Church :  they  widened  her  power,  they  weakened  her 
piety.  All  who  came  within  her  borders  were  not  so  in 
earnest  as  to  surrender  literally  according  to  their  profes- 
sions ;  they  clung  to  much  that  was  dear  in  the  old  pagan 
life.  Hence  the  discipline  became  lax  and  the  secular- 
ism great.  In  a  little  while  the  Church  was  divided  into 
its  two  great  classes — those  who  clung  to  the  old  ascetic 
idea,  and  those  who  would  blend  in  a  comfortable,  if  not 
harmonious,  whole  both  godliness  and  worldliness,  the 
service  of  God  and  the  gratification  of  self.  Naturally, 
under  such  circumstances,  asceticism  became  even  more 
pronounced  and  aggressive.  It  made  desperate  efforts 
then,  as  it  has  done  in  later  ages,  to  correct  the  growing 
evil  in  the  Church,  but  with  small  and  varying  success. 
Then  the  tendency  to  separation  appeared.  The  holy 
life  no  longer  was  possible  among  men.  There  could 
be  no  sympathy  of  thought  or. feeling  between  people 
.who  abhorred  and  people  who  loved  the  same  thing. 
The  difficulty  of  living  the  ascetic  life  in  the  world 
was  further  increased  by  adverse  social  circumstances. 
With  Christianity  the  sword  entered  into  the  family,  not 
only  giving  occasion  to  bitter  feelings,  but  also  destroy- 
ing affection  and  gendering  persecution.  At  home,  in 
business  and  in  society  there  was  for  the  disciple  of 
Christ  a  sharp  and  positive  ostracism — a  contempt  that 
could  scarcely  find  expression  in  either  word  or  acts,  a 
cutting  off  from  all  friendly  intercourse  as  decided  as  it 
was  constant  and  as  humiliating  as  it  was  unjust.  The 
price  paid  for  professing  the  new  religion  was  not  always 
the  pouring  out  of  the  blood  in  martyrdoms  which  from 
their  publicity  and  prominence  have  become  historical — 
that,  though  bad,  had  about  it  a  certain  glory   which 


THE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  85 

when  life  was  hopeless  must  needs  have  been  gratifying 
even  to  the  most  humble-minded  and  most  self-forgetful 
— but  there  were  the  daily  persecution,  the  thrusting 
out  of  employment  and  the  loss  of  business,  the  petty 
annoyances  and  the  cruel  sneers,  in  many  instances 
starvation  none  the  less  sure  because  gradual,  and  the 
encroachment  upon  personal  rights  none  the  less  effect- 
ual because  accomplished  under  some  subtilty  or  fic- 
tion. To  the  poor  man  this  meant,  verily,  a  daily  death. 
Perchance  the  wife  remained  pagan ;  and  when,  because 
of  religion^  want  and  distress  entered  the  family,  her 
reproaches  and  the  cries  of  suffering  children  must 
have  been  a  sore  trial  and  sad  temptation.  After  all, 
the  severest  test  that  can  come  to  the  child  of  God  is 
not  from  the  enmity  of  the  world,  but  from  the  love  of 
those  near  and  dear  to  him.  The  voice  or  the  look  of 
woe  from  such,  the  face  pale  from  want  and  pleading,  by 
its  lines  of  agony  must  needs  shake  to  the  very  founda- 
tion the  soul's  faith  and  confidence.  One  would  rather 
stand  bound  before  the  leaping  flames  of  the  fire  than 
hear  such  reproaches  or  see  such  anguish.  Alas !  it 
was  not  peace,  but  fiercest,  keenest,  heaviest  tribulation. 
Indeed,  was  it  always  purity  ?  Was  not  the  tendency 
mighty — did  it  not  appear  even  justifiable — to  dissem- 
ble and  to  conceal  the  truth  ?  For  the  sake  of  the  hun- 
ger and  the  nakedness  at  home  might  not  a  man  cling 
to  the  Christ  in  his  heart  and  deny  him  with  the  lips  ? 
Could  it  be  wrong  to  conform  outwardly  to  the  popular 
customs  and  opinions  ?  To  do  this  in  very  many  in- 
stances meant  bread  to  eat  and  raiment  to  put  on,  but 
to  do  it  was  contrary  to  the  first  principles  of  Christian 
asceticism.     That  ideal  knew  no  compromise — nothing 


86  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY, 

but  unfaltering  obedience  and  unwavering  profession. 
Christ  was  more  than  the  food  that  perishes ;  nay,  if  a 
man  loved  father  or  mother,  wife  or  children,  more  than 
him,  he  was  not  worthy  to  bear  his  name.  Better  sepa- 
ration, shame,  reproach  or  death  than  to  go  back  to  the 
worship  of  the  vain  gods  and  to  the  practice  of  unholy 
rites. 

Perhaps  good-natured  friends  would  for  a  time  attempt 
to  bring  back  the  Christian  to  what  they  would  call  a 
right  state  of  mind.  They  would  present  the  most  at- 
tractive side  of  the  old  religion — its  history  and  poetry, 
its  delightful  associations  and  soul- moving  ceremonies — 
and  they  would  heap  scorn  and  ridicule  upon  the  faith 
of  the  cross,  laughing  at  its  pretensions,  suggesting  foul 
and  impious  things  concerning  its  mysteries,  arguing 
against  its  precepts  and  promises,  and  making  merry 
upon  the  class,  habits  and  pursuits  of  its  adherents. 
The  sneer  and  the  jest  would  be  mighty — mightier  far 
than  even  the  persuasive  entreaty.  Upon  the  poor  be- 
wildered soul  would  fall  the  soft  cobwebs  of  beguiling 
kindness,  light  as  the  threads  of  Indian  silk  and  lovely 
as  the  mingled  tints  of  saffron  and  rose,  but,  unless 
broken  by  the  breathings  and  dissolved  by  the  dews  of 
grace,  destined  to  become  hard  as  steel  and  enduring  as 
adamant.  How  could  the  ascetic  reach  the  aim  of  his 
life  except  by  coming  out  from  amongst  such  destroy- 
ers of  his  purity  ?  True,  these  friends  spoke  kindly  and 
meant  well,  their  words  were  gentle  as  the  Egyptian 
melodies  sung  by  the  girls  of  the  theatre;  but  as  in 
the  one  case  the  strains  of  music  by  their  sweet  abandon 
enticed  to  sin  unspeakable,  so  in  the  other  the  persua- 
sions of  w^ell-wishers  from  their  very  earnestness   and 


THE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  8/ 

sincerity  led  to  spiritual  infamy,  and  possibly  to  eternal 
death.  The  wider  a  man's  acquaintance  and  the  greatei: 
his  worth,  so  much  the  more  difficult  his  position,  so 
much  the  harder  his  trial. 

Nor  could  the  man  who  was  both  poor  and  pious 
always  find  the  opportunity  for  religious  and  virtuous 
exercises.  In  the  homes  of  the  lower  classes  in  the 
Orient  there  is  not  even  now,  much  less  was  there  in 
the  days  of  old,  that  privacy  and  seclusion  which  we 
deem  indispensable  not  only  for  prayer  and  meditation, 
but  also  for  existence  itself  We  could  scarcely  live 
with  the  eye  of  another  upon  us  every  moment ;  that 
would  be  irksome,  irritating,  unbearable.  We  must  shut 
out  the  world  once  in  a  while,  absolutely,  completely, 
surely.  But  life  in  a  one-roomed  hut  or  cottage  does 
not  favor  such  emotions.  The  laborer  in  the  lands  be- 
side the  Nile  or  amid  the  valleys  and  plains  of  the  Lesser 
Asia  might  not,  indeed,  feel  the  loss  of  what  he  had 
never  possessed  nor  aspire  to  that  of  which  he  had  never 
heard ;  but  if  the  spirit  of  asceticism  once  entered  into 
his  being,  the  need  of  quiet  would  soon  present  itself 
He  could  not  bow  down  to  the  earth  before  the  God 
whom,  not  having  seen,  he  loved,  when  wife  and  chil- 
dren, friends  and  acquaintances,  stood  by  to  interrupt 
with  their  untimely  mirth  and  irreverent  jesting.  He 
could  not  lift  up  his  soul  to  higher  things  in  calm  and 
lofty  contemplation  when  everything  around  him  was 
contrary  both  in  intention  and  in  appearance  to  such  an 
act.  There  was  for  him  nothing  but  the  going  away  to 
the  desert,  the  woods  or  the  mountains — anywhere,  so 
that  he  might  be  away  from  the  madding  crowd,  alone 
with  God. 


88  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

In  higher  life  there  were  other  and  really  severer 
social  difficulties ;  these  became  stronger  as  the  Church 
became  filled  with  its  multitude  of  fashionable  and  un- 
believing professors.  The  age  was  one  of  unbounded 
luxury  and  unrestrained  vice;  as  TertuUian  put  it, 
"  Satan  and  his  angels  have  filled  the  whole  world." 
One  may  not  soil  paper  with  the  story  of  the  atrocious 
and  vile  doings  at  the  circus,  the  theatre  and  the  race- 
course— the  places  of  lewd  gestures  and  licentious  speech 
of  which  Christian  teachers  warned  their  hearers  and  to 
which  heath^en  poets  enticed  them.  The  bloody  trag- 
edies and  the  wanton  comedies  were  as  socially  popular 
as  they  were  morally  dangerous.  To  the  playhouse 
Ovid  sends  his  disciple ;  there  he  will  find  the  pleasure 
he  seeks  and  the  debauchery  he  desires.  Ready  paths 
indeed  were  they  to  pollution  and  unending  death,  yet 
ladies  waved  their  delicate  hands  to  the  charioteers  and 
gladiators,  beheld  scenes  of  coarse  brutality  and  acts  of 
unquestionable  immorality,  and  listened  to  the  amatory 
stories  of  men  who  bound  their  curiously-cut  locks  with 
fillets  of  gold,  chewed  mastich  and  made  their  whole 
body  smooth  by  having  the  hair  taken  out  by  pitch- 
plasters.  In  the  home  of  the  rich  the  incentives  to  vice 
were  unrestricted ;  had  it  not  been  so,  neither  the  drama 
nor  the  mystery  would  have  done  its  foul  work  or  have 
been  possible.  Both  music  and  books  were  of  a  part 
with  the  stories  of  the  gods  and  the  rites  of  the  temple. 
Young  people  read  the  lives  of  Aphrodite  and  Demeter, 
the  legends  of  Zeus  and  Dionysus,  and  in  the  romance 
saw  not  the  sin  and  in  the  fresh  verdure  of  the  poetry 
of  nature  beheld  not  the  lurking  serpent  of  death.  The 
walls  of  the  houses,  the  ornaments  in  court  and  garden, 


THE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  89 

the  lamps  and  vessels  of  the  table,  the  furniture  of  the 
bed  and  the  toilet,  chairs,  vases,  writing-tablets,  and 
most  things  movable  and  all  things  immovable,  were 
more  or  less  set  off  with  pictures,  images  or  designs  of 
unequivocal  meaning.  Ladies  decorated  their  slippers 
with  golden  ornaments  and  erotic  figures.  Probably 
they  neither  caused  a  blush  nor  created  an  emotion  ex- 
cept to  that  which  we  have  been  taught  is  sin,  but  which 
the  people  of  old  regarded  as  natural.  Nor  may  we 
doubt  that  when  an  emperor  painted  his  bedchamber 
and  closet  with  the  abominations  of  Elephantis  his  ex- 
ample was  followed  by  the  wealthy  and  great  in  every 
part  of  his  dominion.  What  could  be  the  result  of  such 
an  abandon  ?  "  The  polluted  things  pollute  us  !"  cries 
Tertullian.  Marriage  was  thought  lightly  of;  nay, 
women  came  to  long  for  divorce  as  its  natural  conse- 
quence. They  loved  to  frequent  the  streets  and  public 
places  in  lewd-colored  and  diaphanous  garments,  and 
did  not  feel  ashamed  to  expose  themselves  in  such  ways 
as  to  justify  the  conclusion  that  their  modesty  had  been 
washed  away  in  the  bath.  In  such  a  society^common 
throughout  the  lands  in  which  Christianity  won  its  early 
victories — how  could  the  Christian  escape  contamina- 
tion ?  The  soot  of  iniquity  must  have  fallen  upon  him 
and  discolored  his  life.  The  bestiality  was  frightful, 
terrible  even  as  the  deadly  pestilence.  And  this,  by 
the  way,  was  the  outcome  of  that  paganism  which, 
though  so  luxuriant  in  imagination  and  so  beautiful 
in  form,  had  not  enough  vitality  to  save  its  votaries 
from  unmitigated  evil  nor  its  own  heart  from  unutterable 
corruption.  What  wonder  Christians  of  intense  convic- 
tions shunned  such  a  system  and  avoided  the  haunts  of 


go  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

its  expression  ?    "  Seated  where  there  is  nothing  of  God, 
will  one  be  thinking  of  his  Maker  ?" 

With  this  almost  unrelieved  wickedness  was  associ- 
ated an  extravagance  of  living  not  exceeded  by  that  of 
the  present  age.  In  cities  such  as  Rome  and  Alexan- 
dria there  were  a  waste  and  a  display  of  wealth  far  greater 
than  we  who  have  learned  to  worship  our  own  century 
and  our  own  civilization  commonly  suppose.  Splendid 
houses  elegantly  and  sumptuously  adorned  and  fur- 
nished, equipages  as  complete  as  those  which  roll  along 
the  Route-en-Roi  at  London,  retinues  of  servants  and 
slaves,  gardens  in  which  were  curious  grottoes  and  ar- 
bors, fountains  and  streams  of  waters,  flowers  and  shrubs 
from  many  lands,  intricate  mazes  and  shaded  walks,  and 
an  ostentatious  rivalry, — betokened  the  extensiveness  of 
commerce,  the  perfection  of  art  and  the  abundance  of 
riches.  The  tables  were  supplied  with  delicacies  costly 
and  rare.  To  Alexandria  at  a  great  expense  were 
brought  lampreys  from  the  straits  of  Sicily  and  eels 
from  Meander,  cockles  of  Pelorus  and  oysters  of  Aby- 
dos,  kids  from  Melos  and  turbots  from  Attica,  peafowl 
of  Media  and  thrushes  of  Daphnis.  In  short,  the  rich 
seemed  "  to  sweep  the  world  with  a  dra^-net  to  gratify 
their  luxurious  tastes."  The  indulgence  in  such  epicu- 
rean pleasures  was  excessive ;  the  use  of  wines,  beyond 
discretion.  Banquets  at  which  dances  were  performed 
and  songs  sung  of  a  lascivious  and  mischievous  kind 
were  general.  Nor  was  personal  adornment  neglected  : 
cosmetics,  hair-dyes  and  ointments  were  freely  used. 
Women  stained  their  eyebrows — if  yellow,  with  soot; 
if  black,  with  ceruse.  They  wore  necklaces,  earrings, 
anklets  and  fillets  in  which  were  set  pearls  and  ame- 


THE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  9 1 

thysts,  jaspers,  topazes  and  emeralds.  Gold  ornaments 
abounded ;  artificial  hair  and  wreathed  curls,  rouge  and 
white  lead,  essences  and  perfumes,  pumice  to  smooth  the 
body  and  pitch  to  free  it  from  capillae,  were  brought 
into  requisition.  Short  people  wore  cork  under  their 
shoes,  and  tall  people  used  thin  soles.  Dresses  of  cost- 
ly material  and  gorgeous  colors  set  off  the  persons  of 
the  women — silks  from  India  radiant  in  many  hues, 
replete  with  endless  embroidery  and  finish.  Sometimes 
no  less  than  ten  thousand  talents  was  given  for  a  dress. 
There  appeared,  indeed,  to  be  no  limit  to  the  extrava- 
gance. **  Luxury,"  says  Clement  of  Alexandria,  "  has 
outstripped  nomenclature."  He  beseeches  Christian 
ladies  to  abstain  from  such  evil  decking  of  the  body 
of  sin  and  death.  "  Since  sheep  have  been  created  for 
us,  let  us  not  be  as  silly  as  sheep."  The  vain  behavior 
and  the  light  conversation  of  the  victims  of  such  reck- 
less usages  indicated  a  moral  depravity  all  the  more 
terrible  because  associated  with  exquisite  grace  and 
beauty,  and  all  the  more  deadly  because  fashionable  and 
popular.  The  gay  young  ladies  who  wore  plumes  from 
the  cranes  of  Thrace,  wasted  their  time  and  money  on 
parrots  and  curlews,  and  laughed  or  carried  a  slender 
sprig  of  myrtle  between  their  lips  to  show  their  even 
white  teeth,  were  matched  with  idle  fops  and  frivolous 
dandies  of  the  other  sex.  Everywhere  there  was  a  lack 
of  that  seriousness  without  which  society  must  sooner 
or  later  come  to  ruin.  "  Man  is  not  to  laugh  on  all  oc- 
casions because  he  is  a  laughing  animal,  any  more  than 
the  horse  neighs  on  all  occasions  because  he  is  a  neigh- 
ing animal."  Time  passed  on,  and  the  glory  was  taken 
away.    The  freighted  ships  no  more  brought  their  treas- 


92  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

iires  to  Italy,  nor  the  caravans  of  the  East  their  riches 
to  Egypt ;  purple-clad  princes  no  longer  reigned  on  the 
Tiber  or  the  Nile ;  the  streets  of  Alexandria,  Rome, 
Ephesus  and  Antioch  became  silent  in  distress  and 
shame,  and  where  once  light-hearted  serenader  sang  his 
love-melody  and  softly-robed  sylph  listened  to  vows  in- 
constant as  the  moon  were  heard  the  howling  of  the  dog 
and  the  cry  of  the  night-bird.  Vanity  of  vanities,  the 
blotting  out,  the  woe,  the  death ! 

And  this  was  the  end  which  the  ascetic  saw.  What 
was  all  this  display  of  wealth,  this  revelry  of  licentious- 
ness, in  contrast  with  life  ?  In  the  song  of  the  siren  he 
heard  the  shriek  of  the  lost.  Before  the  world  lay  end- 
less woe — the  darkness  of  Pyriphlegethon  and  the  mis- 
ery of  Tartarus.  The  pleasure,  gayety,  luxury,  thought- 
lessness, were  injurious  even  to  him.  He  could  not  live 
in  the  stifling  atmosphere.  He  could  not  sleep  on  sil- 
ver-footed couches  when  his  Lord  and  Master  had  not 
where  to  lay  his  head.  Not  that  every  pagan  house  was 
thus  dissolute  :  there  were  exceptions,  but  the  exceptions 
were  rare.  Purity  was  next  to  impossible ;  assimilation 
with  deity,  beyond  reach.  Therefore  the  desert,  away 
from  it  all,  the  unbroken  solitude  and  the  banishment  of 
the  world.  It  was  no  trial  to  give  up  that  life — none 
whatever.  Why  should  the  child  of  God  care  to  place 
a  chaplet  of  flowers  or  a  twisted  band  of  laurel  or  myr- 
tle on  the  brow  which  was  destined  for  a  diadem? 
Why  should  he  love  the  palaces  of  cedar  and  the 
bowers  of  indolence  when  he  was  heir  of  an  abidinsf- 

o 

place  in  the  many  mansions  of  the  heavenly  King  ? 

Persecution  was  another  incentive  to  monachism. 
It  is,  indeed,  admitted  that  the  offensive  character  of 


THE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  93 

Christianity — its  claim  to  be  alone  the  true  religion  and 
its  endeavor  to  destroy  all  systems  that  differed  from  it — 
occasioned  much  of  the  fierce  opposition  which  afflicted 
it  for  the  first  three  centuries.  But  this  was  not  the  only 
nor  the  earliest  cause  of  persecution,  Nero  caused  the 
blood  of  the  Christians  to  flow  that  he  might  avert  from 
himself  to  them  the  charge  of  having  set  fire  to  Rome ; 
Domitian  in  his  cruel  and  jealous  rage  imitated  him  out 
of  fear  lest  the  Christian  might  in  the  person  of  one  of 
royal  lineage  bring  forward  a  rival  for  the  imperial  throne. 
Not  till  the  time  of  Trajan — about  the  beginning  of  the 
second  century — when  the  refusal  of  the  Christians  to 
unite  either  in  the  worship  of  the  gods  or  in  the  adora- 
tion of  the  emperor  became  widespread  and  pronounced, 
was  the  attention  of  the  government  aroused.  Mild  and 
considerate  counsels  for  a  season  prevailed,  but  under 
Hadrian  for  the  first  time  Christianity  was  expressly 
condemned.  Then  the  governors  of  the  province  sought 
the  emperor's  favor  or  the  applause  of  the  populace  by 
vigorously  enforcing  the  edicts  of  repression.  The  lull 
in  the  storm  during  the  reign  of  the  gentle  and  kindly 
Antoninus  Pius,  who  by  founding  schools  of  philosophy 
in  the  principal  cities  sought  to  convince  by  argument 
of  intellect,  was  followed  by  the  stern  severity  of  Mar- 
cus Aurelius.  By  this  time  the  pagan  priesthood  was 
thoroughly  aroused.  The  "pestilent  superstition,"  as 
Tacitus  calls  it,  was  able  to  make  itself  felt  in  every 
part  of  the  world-wide  realm.  The  temple- revenues 
began  to  fall  off  seriously,  and,  in  spite  of  the  attacks 
of  Lucian  and  Celsus,  Christian  teachers  proclaimed  the 
truth  and  multiplied  adherents.  Nor  was  the  state  un- 
touched.    There  was  no  disguising  the  claims  of  Christ 


94  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY, 

to  universal  dominion.  If  Rome  set  up  itself  as  eternal, 
the  Nazarenes  dauntlessly  declared  of  their  Lord,  '*  His 
kingdom  is  an  everlasting  kingdom,  and  his  dominion 
endureth  throughout  all  generations."  The  antithesis 
of  Christ  and  Caesar  was  constantly  made.  In  its  ter- 
ritorial lines  the  Church  adopted  the  divisions  of  the 
Empire,  and  beside  the  governor  placed  the  bishop, 
whose  voice  was  unto  it  as  the  voice  of  God,  and 
whom  alone  it  considered  itself  bound  to  obey.  This 
very  act  of  appointing  the  bishop  was  dangerous  to  the 
imperial  interests,  for  he  obtained  office  only  by  the  suf- 
frages of  his  peers ;  and  the  people  were  thus  constantly 
reminded  of  the  republic.  A  pure  democracy  was  one 
of  the  cardinal  principles  of  the  faith;  so  the  wisest 
statesmen  and  the  best  emperors  set  themselves  against 
Christianity.  They  supposed  that  the  secret  assemblies 
of  the  Christians  had  a  political  meaning,  and  they  ac- 
cepted the  fact  that  the  new  religion  was  inimical  to  the 
interests  of  the  realm.  Multitudes  followed  their  lead. 
The  pure  and  earnest  life  of  the  Christian  was  in  itself 
a  constant  rebuke ;  that  life  made  even  the  soldier  bet- 
ter and  braver  than  his  pagan  comrades.  Sober  and 
undefiled,  he  had  a  clearer  brain,  a  stronger  muscle  and 
a  truer  heart.  Every  misfortune  which  came  upon  the 
Empire — and  they  were  so  many  that  the  year  i66  was 
called  annus  calamitosiis — was  laid  to  the  charge  of  the 
Christians.  They  were  false  to  the  gods,  and  the  gods 
had  taken  away  the  success  and  the  glory  which  in  the 
past  had  attended  the  arms  and  the  enterprises  of  Rome. 
Charges  of  the  wildest  and  most  impossible  nature  were 
made.  Refusing  to  go  to  the  temples  and  having  no 
public  places  of  worship,  the  Christians  were  declared 


THE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  95 

atheists.  Their  sociaHsm  appeared  to  be  a  cloak  for 
Hcentious  and  incestuous  Hving,  and  their  manner  of 
speaking  of  the  great  sacrament  laid  them  open  to  the 
supposition  of  cannibalism.  They  were  even  said  to 
worship  an  ass.  Such  ridiculous  ideas  prevailed  largely 
and  were  made  the  expression  of  the  deeper  and  more 
philosophical  spirit — the  popular  excuse  for  extreme  and 
severe  measures. 

Bitter  and  violent  was  the  tribulation.  The  fires  which 
Nero  kindled  in  his  garden  had  their  counterpart  to  the 
remotest  bounds  of  the  Empire.  Idle  ladies  and  disso- 
lute lords,  a  vile  and  blood-loving  populace,  saw  defence- 
less men,  women  and  children  thrown  to  the  lions,  tor- 
tured, picked  to  pieces,  crushed,  burnt.  The  attraction 
of  the  circus  or  of  the  amphitheatre  was  a  martyrdom. 
Only  have  a  Christian  to  put  to  death,  and  a  multitude 
would  assemble  to  gloat  over  his  sufferings.  Red-hot 
plates  of  metal  were  applied  to  the  quivering  body  of 
maid  or  matron,  of  child  or  old  man ;  some  were  made 
to  struggle  with  wild  bulls  or  still  more  furious  gladia- 
tors ;  and  both  by  refinement  of  cruelty  and  by  brutal 
force  they  were  harried  and  hurled  out  of  life.  Can  the 
frightful  page  be  blotted  out  of  the  history  of  man? 
Yet  these  enormities  were  wrought  by  the  disciples  of 
that  wonderful  paganism  which  demands  our  homage, 
and  for  the  most  part  were  done  during  the  reigns  of  the 
noblest  princes  which  that  paganism  produced  !  There 
was  no  mitigation.  Melito,  bishop  of  Sardis,  told  Aure- 
lius  to  his  face,  "  Shameless  informers,  greedy  of  others' 
possessions,  taking  occasion  of  these  edicts,  plunder  their 
innocent  victims  day  and  night."  Husbands  made  Chris- 
tianity an  excuse  for  putting  away  their  wives ;  fathers, 


96  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

for  disinheriting  their  sons ;  masters,  for  punishing  their 
servants.  Still,  it  was  in  vain  :  the  Christ  was  lifted  up, 
and  he  drew  all  men.  Nobly  and  exultantly  writes  Ter- 
tullian,  "  Your  cruelty  is  the  trial  of  our  conscience ; 
God  permits  us  to  suffer  these  things  in  order  that  it 
may  be  seen  by  all  that  we  prefer  to  suffer  death  rather 
than  commit  sin.  Your  cruelty,  even  the  most  exqui- 
site, is  of  no  avail  against  us.  It  is  rather  that  which  is 
our  lure :  it  draws  converts  to  us.  We  grow  by  being 
mown  down.  The  blood  of  Christians  is  the  seed  of 
the  Church." 

It  is  not  to  be  denied  that  many  who  professed  and 
called  themselves  Christians  when  the  fires  were  lighted 
and  the  lions  loosed  denied  the  faith  and  went  back. 
The  lapsi  and  the  traditores  became  a  cause  of  much  per- 
plexity to  the  Church.  But,  this  notwithstanding,  the 
army  of  martyrs  is  beyond  numbering.  Whether  in  the 
furious  persecution  which  broke  out  in  Gaul  or  in  the 
beginning  of  the  third  century  in  Africa  and  Egypt — no 
matter  where — there  was  no  lack  of  ready  confessors. 
People  began,  indeed,  to  covet  and  to  seek  the  baptism 
of  blood.  They  gloried  in  suffering  and  delighted  in 
being  thought  worthy  of  death.  Perhaps  the  pleasure 
became  morbid.  Old  men  longed  to  die  as  Polycarp 
and  Hippolytus  had  died ;  young  women,  to  walk  in 
the  steps  of  Perpetua  and  Felicitas.  The  Church  was 
obliged  to  denounce  the  unhealthy  tendency,  and  to 
show  that  oftentimes  it  was  better  for  one  to  flee  than  to 
stay — that  the  white  martyrdom,  the  daily  dying  unto 
sin,  was  better  than  the  red  martyrdom,  the  death  in  the 
fire.  Clemens  Alexandrinus  even  in  his  day  was  decided 
on  this  point.     The  Lord,  says  he,  "  bids  us  take  care 


THE  SOLITARY  LIFE.  gy 

of  ourselves,  and  he  who  disobeys  is  foolhardy.  He  who 
does  not  avoid  persecution,  but  rashly  offers  himself  for 
capture,  becomes  an  accomplice  in  the  crime  of  the  per- 
secutor; and  if  he  provokes  and  challenges  the  wild 
beast,  he  is  certainly  guilty." 

This  pagan  opposition  to  Christianity  could  not  have 
been  other  than  a  direct  cause  of  monachism.  Driven 
away  from  home,  forced  out  of  employment,  defrauded 
of  possessions  and  reputation,  in  danger  of  prison,  tor- 
ment and  death,  it  was  natural  that  men  should  seek 
seclusion  and  safety  in  the  wilderness.  Even  the  em- 
peror could  not  rule  in  the  boundless  desert;  his  com- 
mands there  were  forceless,  and  his  edicts  as  short-liv^ed 
as  the  tracks  in  the  sand.  The  recluse  could  banish  him 
and  his  splendor  from  his  mind,  and  disregard  alike  the 
cruelty  of  the  soldier  and  the  sophistry  of  the  sage.  In 
due  time  his  flight  received  the  approval  of  the  Church, 
and  his  self-denial  the  admiration  of  the  people. 

Powerful  as  was  this  influence,  mightier  than  it  and 
second  to  none  that  have  been  mentioned  was  the  doc- 
trine of  virginity  or  celibacy.  This  doctrine  receives 
emphasis  because  in  the  early  centuries  of  the  faith  it 
is  exalted  above  even  asceticism.  It  rested  upon  and 
received  its  strength  from  many  considerations.  The 
perilous  position  of  the  early  Christians  made  the  single 
life  prudent :  there  were  in  it  neither  the  danger  of 
heathen  alliances  or  of  family  divisions,  nor  the  cares, 
anxieties  and  griefs  incident  to  marriage.  It  saved  men 
from  the  engrossing  pursuits  of  business,  the  desire  and 
need  of  amassing  riches,  the  disgrace  which  might  arise 
from  the  wrong-doing  of  children  and  the  temptations 
to  luxury,  worldliness  and  covetousness.      They  who 


98  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

were  married  were  tied  to  places  and  governed  by  the 
will  of  others.  They  could  not  give  undivided  attention 
to  the  affairs  of  religion,  nor  could  they  have  either  un- 
disturbed leisure  for  prayer  or  freedom  from  that  incisive 
criticism  which  is  keenest  in  the  unreserved  home-life. 
Moreover,  the  day  was  near  at  hand  when  the  present 
state  of  things  should  end.  In  view  of  coming  calam- 
ities and  of  approaching  judgment,  it  was  no  time  to 
marry  or  to  be  given  in  marriage.  No  one  would  sug- 
gest the  epithalamium  to  a  dying  man,  and  the  Chris- 
tians of  that  day  lived  as  in  the  shadow  of  death.  Nor 
in  heaven  was  there  aught  but  virginity,  and  they  would 
be  as  were  the  angels  of  God ;  nay,  they  would  follow 
the  example  of  the  Blessed  Virgin  and  of  the  Lord  Jesus 
in  their  perpetual  chastity.  They  even  looked  upon 
marriage  as  a  consequence  of  the  Fall  and  the  brand  of 
human  imperfection :  had  Adam  not  sinned,  he  would 
have  remained  for  ever  in  a  state  of  virgin  purity.  Long 
before  their  day  by  many  celibacy  was  regarded  as  the 
purer  and  holier  state  of  life  and  the  best  preparation 
for  paradise,  and  though  ancient  nations,  having  a  view 
solely  to  the  present  world,  repeatedly  legislated  against 
it,  there  was  never  a  time  when  some  did  not  conscien- 
tiously remain  single.  There  were  passages  in  the  New 
Testament  which  appeared  to  favor  their  view,  and  possibly 
the  spirit  of  antagonism  led  them  to  differ  from  the  Jews, 
who  insisted  upon  a  married  priesthood,  declared  that  no 
man  should  exceed  twenty  without  marrying  and  made 
marriage  the  first  of  the  six  hundred  and  thirteen  precepts. 
In  their  seriousness  the  frivolity  and  the  absorption  con- 
nected with  wooing,  the  emotions  and  visions  which  it 
occasioned,  seemed  dangerous  and  undesirable.     It  was 


THE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  99 

not,  indeed,  proposed  before  the  Council  of  Carthage  in 
251  that  ceHbacy  should  apply  to  the  clergy,  nor  was  it 
till  the  pontificate  of  Gregory  VII.  (1074)  that  it  was  en- 
forced among  them ;  but  the  superiority  of  the  virgin 
life  appeared  so  manifest  that  the  highest  type  of  spirit- 
uality, whether  in  clergy  or  laity,  was  without  it  con- 
sidered unattainable. 

And  yet  there  were  two  other  considerations  which 
probably  outweighed  all  these  and  made  virginity  more 
than  ever  important.  One  of  these  was  the  doctrine  of 
the  evil  of  matter,  upon  which  we  have  already  touched  ; 
the  other  was  the  reaction  from  the  fundamental  pagan 
principle  of  the  deification  of  sex.  Of  the  impurities 
of  that  worship  which  was  associated  with  this  latter 
feature  of  heathendom  it  is  not  prudent  to  speak.  All 
the  ancient  religions  personified  in  their  gods  and  god- 
desses the  male  and  female  principles  of  nature.  They 
prescribed  duties  to  be  performed  to  them,  recounted 
their  deeds,  revealed  their  mysteries  and  constantly  by 
symbol,  lesson  or  myth  kept  the  mind  upon  such  things 
as  could  only  result  in  the  outbreak  of  awful  orgies  of 
vice  and  in  a  depraved  mode  of  living.  The  disgusting 
and  sickening  emblems  of  this  sex-cult  were  every- 
where— engraven  on  walls,  carved  in  wood  and  stone 
and  painted  in  pictures.  Astarte  in  one  land  and 
Aphrodite  in  another,  Osiris  and  Isis,  Anu  and  Anatu, 
Bel  and  Mylitta,  Jupiter  and  Juno,  and  hosts  of  deities 
like  unto  them,  had  their  temples,  servitors,  devotees 
and  all  the  accessories  of  worship.  The  life  was  not 
merely  sensuous  :  it  was  sensual.  Of  chastity  there  was 
none ;  it  was  both  impossible  and  unknown.  The  mind 
was  debased  and   the  soul  was  hardened  and  stamed, 


lOO  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

even  as  marble  upon  which  black  dye  has  been  suffered 
to  remain.  Apologists  such  as  Voltaire  and  Constant 
notwithstanding,  the  slime-track  is  over  all  the  splendor 
of  heathen  art  and  poetry,  here  deepening  and  broaden- 
ing in  the  lines  of  an  Ovid  and  there  glistening  with  the 
odes  of  an  Anacreon.  In  short,  the  very  essence  and 
glory  of  pagan  life  and  literature  is  sexual — the  mag- 
nificence of  beauty  cast  upon  the  lowest  animal  pro- 
pensities. 

The  reaction  from  this  in  the  Christian  life  can  well 
be  imagined.  That  would  naturally  go  to  the  other 
extreme,  and  in  its  desire  to  overthrow  impurity  would 
exalt  abstinence.  The  feeling  would  be  made  more  in- 
tense when  heretics  such  as  Cerinthus  went  back  to  the 
old  licentiousness,  and  when,  in  later  times,  Mohammed 
peopled  his  paradise  with  black-eyed  houris  and  prom- 
ised the  Faithful  a  plurality  of  wives.  As  the  pagans 
taught  that  the  sacrifice  of  virginity  was  a  necessary 
and  a  high  virtue,  the  Christians  held  the  opposite. 
They  broke  out  into  extravagant  laudations  of  the  sin- 
gle life.  Ignatius  called  virgins  "  the  jewels  of  Christ," 
and  Hieracas  made  "virginity  a  condition  of  salvation." 
Bodily  suffering  and  bodily  purity  were  almost  equally 
commended.  "  The  first  reward,"  says  St.  Cyprian  to 
the  virgins,  "  is  for  the  martyrs  an  hundred-fold ;  the 
second,  sixty-fold,  is  for  yourselves."  Athenagoras  dis- 
tinctly connected  virginity  with  the  privilege  of  divine 
communion.  "  You  will  find  many  of  our  people,"  he 
says  to  the  emperor  Marcus,  **  both  men  and  women, 
grown  old  in  their  single  state,  in  hope  thereby  of  a 
closer  union  with  God."  Such  expressions  abound  and 
testify  how  thoroughly  the  tendency  had  fastened  itself 


rilE   SOLITARY  LIFE,  10 1 

upon  early  Christianity.  This  spirit  we  can  better  de- 
scribe than  understand ;  to  us  it  is  as  repulsive  as  its  op- 
posite, and  in  its  ultimate  results. is  no  less  damaging 
and  evil.  But  it  was  the  very  thing  to  further  mona- 
chism.  It  was  pre-eminently  conducive  to  the  solitary 
life ;  and  as  in  Egypt  the  highest  mysticism  prevailed, 
so  there  also  did  this  spirit  exist  in  fullest  measure. 

To  one  other  cause  only  shall  we  refer.  Very  early 
in  the  Church  arose  the  doctrine  of  works.  There  were 
two  classes  of  Christians  to  whom  the  precepts  of  Scrip- 
ture were  addressed — those  who  would  be  perfect,  and 
those  who  would  merely  be  saved.  For  the  former 
were  "  the  counsels  of  perfection,"  whereby  they  might 
voluntarily  attain  to  special  sanctity,  and  for  the  latter 
were  the  general  commands  which  were  absolutely  nec- 
essary to  all  without  exception.  Works  of  supereroga- 
tion were  therefore  possible,  and  by  these  works  not 
only  might  the  punishment  due  to  committed  sin  be  re- 
moved, but  also  a  surplus  of  virtue  might  be  applied  to 
balance  the  shortcomings  of  others.  Penance  followed 
every  violation  of  the  moral  law,  but  in  this  way  pen- 
ance might  be  anticipated,  and  even  the  sufferings  of  the 
future  world  worked  off  in  advance.  Thus  early  the 
all-cleansing  efficacy  of  the  Redeemer's  blood  was  for- 
gotten, and  men  imagined  that  by  deeds  of  the  law  they 
could  both  save  themselves  and  help  others  heavenward. 
The  pure-minded  and  unselfish  man  had  thus  a  con- 
straining motive  to  enter  into  the  life  of  seclusion. 
There  he  could  approach  nearer  his  Creator  and  offer 
his  prayers  and  virtues,  in  a  sense,  as  a  propitiatory 
sacrifice  for  those  loved  ones  who  were  yet  in  the  world.  ' 
Perhaps  the  best  way  to  help  them  was  to  separate  from 


I02  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

thcni,  and  thus  by  entering  into  the  inner  and  higher 
holiness  of  saints  and  angels  obtain  access  to  the  throne 
of  Deity  and  there  plead  that  they  might  find  grace  and 
mercy  in  the  day  of  necessity. 

Upon  the  motives  which  have  been  described  we 
reserve  judgment.  Wherein  they  were  right  or  where- 
in they  were  wrong  need  not  now  be  decided ;  that 
they  existed  is  a  fact  sufficient.  On  the  whole,  we 
perforce  admit  the  sincerity  of  those  whom  they  influ- 
enced. The  early  professors  of  the  faith  in  their  zeal 
stopped  at  no  sacrifice.  To  reach  God  was  all  they 
sought ;  to  do  his  will,  their  only  desire,  Monachism 
appeared  to  them  the  best  and  readiest  way,  and  one 
thing  after  another  evolved  and  supported  that  idea. 
The  working  out  of  the  system  necessarily  had  its 
mingled  triumphs  and  failures,  its  hghts  and  shadows, 
its  glory  and  its  shame.  Only  let  this  be  kept  in  mind, 
that  the  quest  of  many  in  those  early  days  was  as 
Quarles  describes  the  soul's  search  for  Christ  now — 
as  bewildering  and  as  successful : 

"I  search'd  this  glorious  city:  he's  not  here; 

I  sought  the  countiy :  she  stands  empty-handed ; 
I  search'd  the  court:  he  is  a  stranger  there; 

I  asked  the  land:  he's  ship'd;  the  sea:  he's  landed; 
I  climbed  the  air:  my  thoughts  began  t' aspire; 
But,  ah  !  the  wings  of  my  too  bold  desire, 
Soaring  too  near  the  sun,  were  singed  with  sacred  fire. 

"  I  moved  the  merchant's  ear :  alas !  but  he 

Knew  neither  what  I  said,  nor  what  to  say ; 
I  ask'd  the  lawyer :  he  demands  a  fee, 

And  then  demurs  me  with  a  vain  delay; 
I  ask'd  the  schoolman:  his  advice  was  free, 

But  scor'd  me  out  too  intricate  a  way; 


THE   SOLITARY  LIFE.  IO3 

I  ask'd  the  watchman  (best  of  all  the  four), 
Whose  gentle  answer  could  resolve  no  more 
But  that  he  lately  left  him  at  the  temple  door. 

"  Thus  having  sought  and  made  my  great  inquest 

In  every  place  and  search'd  in  every  ear, 
I  threw  me  on  my  bed ;  but,  ah !  my  rest 

Was  poisoned  with  the  extremes  of  grief  and  fear, 
When,  looking  down  into  my  troubling  breast — 

The  magazine  of  wounds — I  found  him  there!" 


CHAPTER    IV. 

(BrotDdj  of  IWonariji^m. 

The  earliest  disciples  of  monachism  were  satisfied 
with  a  temporary  seclusion.  After  a  time — lengthened 
or  shortened  according  to  circumstances — they  returned 
from  their  retreat  to  their  families  and  ordinary  voca- 
tions. They  thus  complied  with  the  command  once 
given  to  the  apostles :  "  Come  ye  yourself  apart  into  a 
desert  place,  and  rest  a  while." 

Nor  is  it  certain  that  the  societies  of  female  ascetics 
which  early  formed  within  the  congregation  for  many 
years  either  assumed  an  organization  separate  from  that 
of  the  common  body  of  the  faithful  or  observed  more 
than  the  same  transitory  retirement.  Their  primary  pur- 
pose was  rather  to  work  in  the  world  than  to  go  out  of 
the  world — to  minister  to  the  sick  and  needy  and  to  set 
an  example  of  holy  living  whereby  the  Church  might 
be  edified.  Therefore,  though  the  members  assumed 
the  obligations  of  perpetual  virginity,  they  lived  among 
their  friends  and  took  their  part  in  the  usual  household 
and  social  duties.  Even  when  they  entered  into  a  com- 
mon life,  the  little  community  was  for  some  time  within 
the  organization  and  under  the  jurisdiction  of  the  parish. 
By  the  end  of  the  third  century  they  had  obtained  auton- 
omy, doubtless  by  a  gradual  and  necessary  evolution. 

This  embryonic  monachism  speedily  reached  its  next 

104 


GROWTH  OF  MONACHISM.  IO5 

stage  in  the  anchorets  or  hermits — a  stage  accurately 
indicated  by  the  etymology  of  these  names.  The  first 
anchoret  of  whom  history  speaks  is  Paul  of  Alexandria. 
When  the  Decian  persecution  reached  Egypt,  about  25  I, 
he  was  twenty-three  years  of  age.  From  that  time  till 
he  attained  fourscore  and  ten  years  he  lived  in  the  des- 
ert of  the  Thebaid,  a  palm  tree  beside  his  cavern  for 
twenty  years  supplying  him  with  leaves  for  clothing  and 
fruit  for  food,  and  when  that  fai4ed  a  raven  bringing  him 
meat  daily  for  the  remainder  of  his  life.  In  his  old  age 
he  was  found  out  by  Antony,  who  beheld  with  delight 
and  humility  his  austerities,  and  when  he  died  buried 
him  in  a  cloak  which  once  had  belonged  to  St.  Athana- 
sius.  Nor  were  the  winding-sheet  of  orthodoxy  and 
the  odorous  spices  of  sanctity  all :  though  unknown  to 
the  world,  Paul  had  made  friends  with  the  brutes  of 
the  wilderness.  The  lions  came  expressing  their  sym- 
pathy to  Antony  by  good-humoredly  growling  and 
wagging  their  tails,  and  setting  forth  their  affection  by 
scratching  their  old  friend's  grave  in  the  sand. 

Marvellous  and  multitudinous  are  the  legends  which 
cluster  around  characters  such  as  Paul,  but  from  the 
plethora  we  may  indulge  our  curiosity  and  adorn  our 
story  when  we  d^al  with  greater  and  more  glorious 
names.  St.  Jerome,  who  alone  records  the  life  of  this 
early  anchoret,  imperils  his  testimony  by  an  extravagant 
indulgence  of  the  powers  of  imagination  and  invention. 
He  treasured  the  fragments  of  gossip  with  a  care  and 
an  affection  as  great  as  those  which  Antony  bestowed 
upon  the  garment  of  stitched  palm-leaves  which  had  for 
long  covered  the  withered  body  of  Paul.  The  relics 
were  in  both  cases  of  equal  worthlessness. 


I06  READINGS  IN   CHURCH  HISTORY. 

This  Antony,  the  son  of  wealthy  and  honorable  par- 
ents, was  born  at  the  village  of  Coma,  near  to  Heraclea, 
on  the  borders  of  the  Thebaid,  in  the  year'  in  which 
Paul  first  sought  the  safety  and  solitude  of  the  desert. 
His  education  was  neglected — at  least,  his  knowledge 
of  Greek  was  very  small — but  he  had  a  retentive  mem- 
ory, a  thoughtful  mind  and  a  great  fondness  for  the 
sacred  Scriptures.  Believing  that  the  word  of  God 
gave  instruction  enough  for  the  needs  of  man,  he  cared 
for  none  but  the  inspired  literature,  and  rather  than  with 
the  romances  of  pagan  poets  diligently  stored  his  mind 
with  its  sublime  lessons.  His  parents  died  and  left  him 
considerable  wealth  about  270,  when  he  was  in  his  eigh- 
teenth year.  Life  soon  began  to  take  its  destined  course. 
The  sincerity  and  simplicity  of  his  apprehension  of  the 
truth,  like  flowers  of  rich  and  rare  loveliness,  early  in 
his  youth  threw  out  their  bloom  and  fragrance.  One 
day  in  church  he  heard  read  the  message  of  the  gospel : 
"  If  thou  wilt  be  perfect,  go  and  sell  that  thou  hast,  and 
give  to  the  poor,  and  thou  shalt  have  treasure  in  heaven  ; 
and  come,  follow  me."  The  entrance  of  the  word  gave 
light  to  the  rich  young  man.  He  humbly  applied  it  to 
himself,  and  determined  to  walk  in  the  path  of  duty 
thus  pointed  out.  Immediately,  lest,  perchance,  time 
might  weaken  the  resolution,  his  estate  was  sold  and 
the  proceeds  were  distributed  to  the  poor,  sufficient 
only  being  reserved  for  the  support  of  his  sister.  Later, 
impressed  in  like  manner  with  the  words,  "  Take  no 
thought  for  the  morrow,"  he  gave  away  the  remnant, 
and  placed  his  sister  in  a  society  of  religious  virgins. 
His  ties  with  the  world  thus  severed,  he  betook  himself 
to  a  retreat  not  far  from  his  native  village  to  work  out 


GROWTH  OF  AJONACinSM.  10/ 

his  own  salvation  by  austerities  as  fatal  to  natural  in- 
stincts as  the  drouth  is  to  vegetation,  and  by  prayers  as 
long  as  the  night.  An  angel  taught  him  to  weave  mats 
and  to  perform  other  acts  of  manual  labor.  His  soli- 
tary meal,  never  taken  before  sunset,  consisted  of  bread 
and  salt  with  water;  the  floor,  bare  or  thinly  strewn 
with  rushes,  was  his  couch.  Later  he  hid  himself  for 
ten  years  in  an  old  sepulchre,  till,  desiring  even  more 
impressive  solitude  and  to  be  freed  from  unceasing  con- 
flicts with  the  spirits  of  evil,  in  285  he  boldly  ventured 
into  the  desert,  and  after  three  days'  journey  found  in 
the  Wady  Arabah,  near  the  Red  Sea,  a  ruined  tower 
where  were  both  shade  and  water.  Here  he  decided  to 
remain  for  the  rest  of  his  days.  A  dreary  spot — shade- 
less  sands  and  treeless  mountains ;  a  sky  seldom  soft- 
ened with  a  cloud  or  cheered  with  the  song  of  bird  or 
sweep  of  wind ;  beyond  the  sunburnt  cliffs  the  quiet, 
glittering  sea-waters,  and  farther  still  the  harsh  and  life- 
less peaks  of  Sinai.  Tradition  affirms  that  down  this 
valley  the  chariots  of  Pharaoh  pursued  the  children 
of  Israel,  and  that  Miriam  bathed  in  the  spring  which 
bursts  out  from  the  rocks  below  the  cave  in  which 
Antony  lived.  On  the  opposite  side  of  the  sea  is  a 
boiling  sulphurous  spring  which  started  into  being 
with  the  last  drowning  gasps  of  the  Egyptian  king's 
violent  anger,  and  which  his  spirit  still  haunts.  No 
Arab  ventures  to  bathe  in  those  waters — which  are 
efficacious  for  the  cure  of  rheumatism — without  first 
casting  in  a  cake  of  meal  and  oil  specially  prepared  as 
an  offering  to  the  revengeful  and  active  ghost  of  the 
Pharaoh. 

Antony  was  no  sooner  settled  than  his  peace  was  dis- 


I08  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

turbed  by  multitudes  of  tormenting  demons  and  admir- 
ing Christians.  His  fame  as  a  holy  and  devout  man 
spread  throughout  Egypt  and  entered  the  realm  of 
Hades.  Which  he  dreaded  the  more  is  not  told ;  both 
were  terrible  enough.  Juno  was  not  more  persistent  or 
malignant  in  her  persecution  of  ^neas  than  was  Satan 
in  his  affliction  of  Antony.  To  the  recluse  came  from 
the  desert  first  the  Arabs,  wondering  at  his  strange  ap- 
pearance and  habits ;  and  before  long  pilgrims  of  many 
lands  thronged  around  him,  that  they  might  obtain  con- 
solation for  their  sorrows  and  counsels  for  their  difficul-, 
ties.  He  was  sympathetic  and  eloquent,  able  to  minis- 
ter to  the  heavy-hearted  and  to  instruct  the  ignorant. 
His  knowledge  of  Scripture  and  of  human  nature  was 
as  great  as  was  his  zeal  for  orthodoxy.  He  hated  here- 
tics as  vigorously  as  the  voyagers  on  his  native  Nile 
hated  mosquitoes ;  the  night-winds  which  crept  over 
the  rocks  and  plains  around  were  not  more  chilly  to 
his  body  than  was  the  breath  of  heresy  to  his  soul. 
His  renown  spread  far  and  wide,  and  his  example  be- 
came highly  contagious.  In  a  short  while  other  souls 
like  unto  his  made  their  homes  in  the  caves  of  the  hills 
near  him.  The  silent  valley  was  soon  thick-set  with 
cells.  There  was  no  organization  binding  the  hermits 
in  one  society.  That  was  a  later  stage ;  so  far,  each  in- 
dividual lived  as  much  by  himself  as  he  lived  for  him- 
self The  neighborhood  of  Antony  was  sought  that  his 
disciples  might  profit  by  his  lessons  and  imitate  his 
practices.  The  only  rule  observed  was  for  every  one 
to  become  as  much  like  him  as  possible. 

One  of  the  usual  effects  of  such  a  life  came  to  the 
hermit  of  Mount  Colzim :  he  fell  a  prey  to  that  morbid 


GROWTH  OF  MONACHISM.  IO9 

and  overwrought  imagination  in  which  he  saw  and 
fought  with  the  unclean  spirits  of  darkness.  Virgil 
takes  his  hero  over  the  lake  of  liquid  pitch,  through 
ghastly  shades,  into  the  nether  realm,  there  to  behold 
the  horrors  of  furies,  gorgons  and  centaurs,  of  hydra- 
headed  serpents  and  maddened  ghosts.  Dante  roamed 
through  the  same  dreary  regions,  and  told  the  story  of 
woe  in  lines  livid  in  painful  reality  and  burnt  with  im- 
perishable fire  in  the  rocks  of  genius.  These  were  only 
dreams,  but  to  Antony  such  things  were  no  visions. 
His  eyes  were  open  as  were  Balaam's  on  the  hills  of 
Moab,  and  neither  poetic  ecstasy  nor  prophetic  inspira- 
tion was  needed  to  show  him  the  things  hid  from  most 
men.  He  had,  indeed,  no  Beatrice  in  heaven  and  no 
Dido  in  the  mournful  fields  of  Hades — probably  he  had 
never  loved  to  the  weal  or  the  woe  of  another — but  the 
devil  of  Uncleanness  was  persistent  in  his  attacks.  Hav- 
ing little  else  to  do,  Antony  was  busied  in  curbing  lustful 
passions  and  in  fighting  down  the  impure  images  which 
constantly  arose  from  the  abyss  of  corruption  within  his 
heart.  The  more  he  battled,  the  stronger  became  the 
foe.  No  stagnant  pool  is  purified  by  enclosing  or  cov- 
ering it;  and  had  the  will  been  weaker,  the  animal 
nature  must  have  risen  above  the  spiritual  and  the 
anchoret  have  fallen  into  grievous  sin.  An  active  and 
a  more  natural  life  would  have  saved  him  days  of  fierce 
conflict  and  years  of  dire  temptation.  At  times  Satan 
came  against  him  violently,  bemuddling  his  mind,  mak- 
ing unearthly  noises  and  beating  him  till  the  pain  of 
blows  and  wounds  was  unbearable.  Subtilty  was  tried  : 
fiends  disguised  themselves,  and  in  pleasant  forms  and 
with  enticing  words  sought  to  beguile  him.     That  fail- 


no  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

ing,  they  mocked  him  in  his  prayers  and  hissed  at  him 
ill  his  reading ;  they  appeared  in  hideous  and  enormous 
shape  and  as  equipped  and  mounted  soldiers ;  they 
spread  gold  and  plate  in  his  way  to  tempt  him ;  and 
when  device  after  device  was  proven  fruitless,  they  de- 
parted gnashing  their  teeth.  The  cries  of  the  hermit 
during  these  ghostly  conflicts  were  loud  and  terrible. 
They  who  stood  without  the  cell  heard  the  tumult  and 
the  wailing,  but  none  dared  to  enter  in ;  it  was  enough 
for  them  to  know  that  the  fiercest  and  mightiest  of 
demons  could  not  take  the  citadel  of  faith  or  overthrow 
the  walls  of  grace.  Satan  trembled  as  the  shouts  echoed 
along  the  mountain-rocks ;  admiring  hermits  and  pil- 
grims rejoiced  at  the  conflict  and  sang  their  alleluias  at 
the  triumph.  Later  in  his  experience  Antony  reached 
a  healthier  state  of  mind.  "  Let  us  not,"  he  said  to  his 
disciples, "  busy  our  imaginations  in  painting  spectres  of 
evil  spirits;  let  us  not  trouble  our  minds  as  if  we  were 
lost.  Let  us  rather  be  cheerful  and  comforted  at  all 
times,  as  those  who  have  been  redeemed,  remembering 
that  the  Lord  is  with  us  who  has  overcome  the  spirits 
of  evil  and  made  them  as  nothing." 

The  love  of  animals  was  natural  to  one  who  had  to 
do  more  with  the  beasts  of  the  wild  than  with  the  people 
of  the  world.  Most  of  the  hermits  were  renowned  for 
this  affection,  and  Antony  was  second  to  none.  Tradi- 
tion relates  that  when  his  small  patch  of  corn  and  vege- 
tables under  the  palm  trees  was  damaged  by  animals  of 
the  desert  coming  for  water  he  gently  laid  hold  of  one 
and  said  to  him  and  h's  fellows,  "  Why  do  you  injure 
me,  when  I  do  you  no  hurt  ?  Depart,  and,  in  the  name 
of  the   Lord,  come  hither  no  more."      They  took  the 


GROWTH  OF  MONACHISM.  Ill 

gentle  reproof  in  good  spirit,  and  never  came  into  his 
neighborhood  again.  Another  tradition,  displayed  in  a 
picture  in  the  Borghese  palace  at  Rome,  represents  him 
as  preaching  to  the  fishes.  The  salmon  and  the  cod 
listen  with  humility  and  gaze  upon  hirii  with  upturned 
eyes ;  and  when  the  discourse  is  ended,  they  and  their 
fi"iends  bow  with  reverence,  and,  having  received  a  bless- 
ing, scud  away  to  do  their  duty  and  to  make  converts 
in  the  depths  of  the  main.  As  it  is  uncertain  how  An- 
tony could  address  fishes  in  a  place  fifteen  miles  from 
the  sea,  this  episode  has  been  ascribed  sometimes  to 
another  Antony — him  of  Padua;  but  when  one  enters 
the  realm  of*  ecclesiastical  miracles,  it  is  as  unnecessary 
to  attempt  explanation  as  it  is  foolish  to  stumble  at  ap- 
parent wonders.  In  Rome,  on  the  day  dedicated  to  the 
memory  of  the  monk  of  the  desert,  January  17,  horses, 
mules  and  dogs  are  sprinkled  with  consecrated  water 
and  solemnly  blessed,  and  in  the  Middle  Ages  it  was 
held  that  the  pig  was  a  special  object  of  the  saint's  per- 
petual love  and  care. 

Antony  seldom  left  his  retirement  or  went  beyond 
the  laiircB — the  streets  or  cluster  of  hermitages  which 
had  gathered  around  his  cave,  and  which  mark  another 
stage  in  the  development  of  monachism.  His  influence 
grew  with  his  years.  The  sick  and  the  possessed  were 
brought  to  him  that  he  might  pray  over  them  and, 
should  God  will,  impart  to  them  the  desired  health. 
His  belief  in  the  efficacy  of  prayer  was  great.  When 
answered  he  never  boasted  that  his  words  had  pre- 
vailed with  God,  and  when  refused  he  never  murmured, 
but  in  either  case  gave  thanks  to  the  Lord  who  had 
power  to  give  or  to  withhold.     In  311,  when  the  per- 


1 1  2  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  V. 

secution  of  Maximinus  Daza  affected  Egypt  and  many- 
confessors  of  the  faith  were  condemned  to  death,  he 
went  to  Alexandria  and  with  words  of  cheerful  faith 
strengthened  the  weak  and  wavering  and  brightened 
the  last  moments  of  the  dying.  He  even  refused  to 
obey  the  governor's  orders  that  all  monks  should  leave 
the  city.  He  who  had  fought  with  demons  was  not 
afraid  of  men,  and  so  long  as  need  required  he  ap- 
peared in  public,  boldly  preaching  the  gospel  of  Christ, 
and  none  molested  him  or  made  him  afraid.  But  such 
was  not  his  natural  element.  He  shrank  from  the  gaze 
of  the  world  and  gladly  returned  to  his  loved  home  in 
the  wilderness.  "A  monk  out  of  his  solitdde,"  he  said, 
"  is  like  a  fish  out  of  water."  Later,  when  Constantine 
and  his  sons  wrote  to  him  imploring  his  counsel  and 
inviting  him  to  court,  he  was  neither  flattered  nor 
elated.  To  those  around  him  he  said,  "  Wonder  not 
that  the  emperor  writes  to  us,  for  he  is  a  man ;  but 
rather  wonder  at  this — that  God  hath  written  his  laws 
for  men,  and  hath  spoken  them  to  us  by  his  Son."  He 
declined  the  honor,  but  wrote  to  the  emperor  and  his 
sons  congratulating  them  upon  being  Christians,  warn- 
ing them  that  earthly  power  and  glory  should  pass 
away,  and  urging  them  to  philanthropy,  justice  and  the 
care  of  the  poor.  These  virtues  he  constantly  enjoined 
on  all,  adding  to  them  unceasing  prayer  and  abstinence. 
"  The  devil,"  he  observed,  **  is  afraid  of  fasting,  of  prayer, 
of  humility  and  of  good  works." 

In  the  Arian  controversy  he  was  enthusiastically  on 
the  orthodox  side,  and  by  his  vehemence  and  shrewd- 
ness saved  many  from  danger  and  blunted  the  weapons 
of  those  who  would  turn  his  illiteracy  or  zeal  into^ridi- 


GR  0  WTH  OF  MONA  CHISM.  1 1 3 

cule.  He  wrote  to  Constantine  urging  him  to  recall  the 
exiled  Athanasius,  and  received  an  answer  full  of  respect. 
But  Arianism  spread,  and  threatened  to  subvert  the 
Church.  Everywhere  men  disregarded  the  definitions 
and  decrees  of  the  Council  of  Nicaea.  .Not  only  was 
the  court  corrupt  in  the  faith,  but  many  sees  were  filled 
with  bishops  who  openly  avowed  the  heterodox  view. 
So  great  was  the  peril  that  Antony  at  the  age  of  five- 
score years  resolved  to  lift  up  his  voice  in  Alexandria 
on  behalf  of  the  wronged  Athanasius  and  of  the  dishon- 
ored Lord  of  glory.  His  emaciated  form,  wrapped  in 
a  sheepskin  garment,  his  warm  eloquence  and  advanced 
age,  made  a  startling  impression  in  the  great  city.  Men 
had  long  heard  of  him,  and  learned  to  think  of  him  as 
of  a  second  Tishbite ;  now  even  pagans  pressed  to  see 
the  man  of  God  and  with  the  Christians  to  touch  his 
garments  that  they  might  be  healed.  They  beheld  the 
weird  processions  of  his  followers  moving  through  the 
streets,  bearing  aloft  burning  tapers  and  singing  peni- 
tential psalms  and  everywhere  urging  the  people  to 
return  and  cling  to  the  faith  of  the  Crucified.  He  con- 
verted more  in  one  day  than  the  Church  had  done  in  a 
whole  year.  Nor  did  he  depart  from  his  native  sim- 
plicity and  meekness :  he  supported  his  fame  with  dis- 
cretion and  dignity  and  rejoiced  in  his  success  with 
humility  and  gratitude.  Not  the  least  of  his  honors 
was  the  friendship  which  Athanasius  freely  bestowed 
upon  him. 

It  was,  however,  revealed  to  him  that  he  was  not  per- 
fect.    "Antony,"  said  a  voice  from  heaven  to  him  one 
day,  **  thou  art  not  so  perfect  as  is  a  cobbler  that  dwell- 
eth  at  Alexandria;"  whereupon  he  sought  outthe  cob- 
8 


114  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

bier  to  find  wherein  the  difference  lay.  The  poor  man 
was  astonished  to  see  so  grave  and  venerable  a  Father, 
but  he  received  him  courteously.  "  Come  and  tell  me," 
said  Antony,  "  thy  whole  conversation  and  how  thou 
spendest  thy  time."  He  replied,  "  Sir,  as  for  me,  good 
works  have  I  none,  for  my  life  is  but  simple  and  slen- 
der ;  I  am  but  a  poor  cobbler.  In  the  morning,  when 
I  rise,  I  pray  for  the  whole  city  wherein  I  dwell,  espe- 
cially for  all  such  neighbors  and  poor  friends  as  I  have ; 
after,  I  set  me  at  my  labor,  where  I  spend  the  whole  day 
in  getting  my  living;  and  I  keep  me  from  all  falsehood, 
for  I  hate  nothing  so  much  as  I  do  deceitfulness ;  where- 
fore, when  I  make  to  any  man  a  promise,  I  keep  it  and 
perform  it  truly.  And  thus  I  spend  my  time  poorly 
with  my  wife  and  children,  whom  I  teach  and  instruct, 
as  far  as  my  wit  will  serve  me,  to  fear  and  dread  God. 
And  this  is  the  sum  of  my  simple  life."  Bishop  Lati- 
mer, upon  whose  authority  this  story  is  recorded,  makes 
a  profitable  application  of  it ;  if  the  tradition  be  true,  it 
shows  that  the  possibility  had  not  already  been  forgotten 
of  a  holy  life  in  the  family  and  in  the  world. 

A  like  vision  told  Antony  that  an  anchoret  more  per- 
fect than  himself  had  been  living  in  the  desert  ever  since 
he  himself  was  born.  He  searched,  and  found  out  this 
greater  man,  who  happened  to  be  Paul  of  Thebes.  At 
the  door  of  his  cell  for  some  time  he  knocked  in  vain : 
the  hermit  admitted  the  wild  beasts  and  repulsed  human 
visitors.  But  the  lesson  of  persistency  had  been  well 
learned,  and  Antony  continued  knocking.  Finally  the 
bar  was  removed,  the  door  was  opened,  and  Paul  received 
him  with  a  smiling  face  and  a  ready  welcome.  That  even- 
ing the  raven  brought  a   double  portion  of  food,  and 


GROlVril  OF  MONACHISM.  II5 

Antony  was  soon  glad  to  recognize  superior  worth 
and  nobler  devotion.  He  found  a  master  in  Paul,  and 
on  his  second  visit  it  was  his  privilege  not  only  to  lay 
the  aged  hermit  in  his  grave,  but  also  to  see  his  soul 
borne  upward  by  angels  to  the  choir  of  prophets  and 
apostles. 

The  time  at  last  came  when  Antony  himself  should 
pass  into  the  light  of  the  Beatjfic  Vision.  His  life's 
work  had  given  to  monachism  its  first  mightiest  im- 
pulse;  ^  thousands  of  anchorets  were  already  scattered 
over  the  deserts  of  Egypt.  Around  his  dying-bed 
assembled  his  immediate  disciples.  There  was  no  fal- 
tering, no  change  in  the  nature  of  that  life  of  a  hundred 
and  five  years.  With  faith  and  resignation  he  said,  "  I 
enter,  as  it  is  written,  the  path  of  my  fathers ;  for  I  see 
that  the  Lord  calls  me."  He  feared  lest  the  veneration 
of  his  countrymen  should  convert  his  remains  into  an 
object  of  idolatry,  for  the  Egyptians  still  followed  the 
ancient  custom  of  embalming  the  bodies  of  revered 
friends.  Of  his  two  sheepskins,  he  bequeathed  one  to 
the  bishop  of  Alexandria  and  the  other  to  the  bishop 
Thmuis,  A  cloak  which  had  been  worn  for  many  years 
he  directed  to  be  given  to  Athanasius,  its  original  pos- 
sessor, and  his  garment  of  haircloth  fell  to  the  portion 
of  his  two  immediate  attendants.  All  other  treasure 
that  he  had  was  laid  up  in  that  heaven  to  which  by  the 
mercy  of  God  he  now  wended  his  way.  The  place  of 
his  burial  was  kept  secret:  no  man  might  know  of  it 
or  disturb  his  long  repose. 

It  is  unjust  to  question  the  true  greatness  of  soul 
manifest  in  tniis  father  of  monachism.  The  absolute 
sacrifice  of  self,  the  giving  up  of  wealth,  position,  friends 


Il6  HEADINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

and  the  conveniences  and  pleasures  of  society,  the  con- 
flict with  carnal  and  spiritual  adversaries,  and  the  long- 
consistent  life,  betoken  a  heroism  nobler  and  loftier  than 
belongs  to  men  of  smaller  mould.  If  his  austerities  led 
him  to  extraordinary  and  repulsive  observances — for 
instance,  except  in  wading  through  a  river  when  on  his 
journeys  his  body  was  untouched  by  water — they  also 
led  him  to  live  out  a  constant  protest  against  the  sins, 
the  vices  and  luxuries,  of  his  age.  His  example  taught 
men  the  worthlessness  of  earthly  riches — nay,  made 
them  feel  the  folly  of  heaping  up  the  stores  of  wealth 
and  of  broadening  the  hides  of  land.  This  world  was 
not  all :  the  unseen  forces  of  the  invisible  realm  were 
on  every  side  struggling  for  the  possession  of  the  soul 
of  man  and  seeking  his  eternal  freedom  or  his  everlast- 
ing bondage.  Over  the  lips  of  Antony  passed  no  word 
that  could  strengthen  the  power  of  darkness ;  as  in  the 
faith,  so  in  the  life,  he  would  be  pure  and  undefiled. 
What  wonder,  then,  that  his  name,  great  in  his  own 
day,  revered  in  his  own  age,  has  received  from  time 
naught  but  mellowed  reverence  and  quiet  honor  ?  We 
may  pass  by  the  legends  that  after  his  death  for  three 
years  the  heavens  refused  to  drop  their  dew  or  the 
clouds  to  give  their  rain,  and  that  some  two  centuries 
later  his  body  by  divine  revelation  was  discovered  un- 
corrupted  and  then  taken  to  Europe  ;  such  stories  testify, 
if  not  to  their  own  truth,  at  least  to  the  respect  with 
which  he  was  regarded.  Nor  is  it  necessary  that  we 
should  seek  to  discern  more  in  the  virtues  which  peo- 
ple long  supposed  remained  in  his  relics  and  pertained 
to  his  prayers ;  had  they  not  believed  in  the  man,  they 
would  not  have  thought  him  able  to  cure  the  burning 


GROWTH  OF  MONACHISM.  WJ 

erysipelas.  Athanasius  wrote  his  life,  and  the  story  of 
the  life  moved  the  Church  throughout  the  world ;  and 
if  the  craftsmen  of  the  needle  made  him  their  patron 
saint,  some  of  the  greatest  painters  of  the  world  have 
thought  him  worthy  of  their  canvas. 

Antony  was  not  alone  in  his  life's  work.  One  of  his 
disciples  was  Hilarion,  born  about  288,  of  heathen  parents, 
at  Tabatha,  near  to  the  ancient  Philistian  Gaza.  When 
a  boy  at  the  schools  in  Alexandria,  he  became  a  Chris- 
tian. The  new  faith  touched  his  ardent,  earnest  soul 
with  sharp  reality.  No  sooner  had  he  heard  of  Antony 
than  he  set  out  to  find  him.  He  sat  at  the  feet  of  the 
monk  of  the  Thebain  wilds,  heard  his  words  of  wisdom, 
saw  his  acts  of  devotion  and  sacrifice,  and  before  long 
was  seized  with  the  spirit  of  imitation.  This  seemed 
so  true  a  model  of  the  higher  life,  and  Hilarion  desired 
nothing  else  than  to  use  it  as  a  means  of  bringing  him 
closer  to  God.  On  his  return  to  Palestine,  though  but 
fifteen  years  old,  he  gave  away  the  property  inherited 
from  his  lately-deceased  parents,  and,  owning  nothing 
in  this  world  but  the  rough  garments  in  which  he  was 
clad,  he  sought  a  refuge  in  the  dismal  desert  between 
the  sea  and  the  marshes  on  the  borders  of  Egypt. 
There  he  remained  for  the  greater  part  of  his  life, 
suffering  the  privations  of  an  inhospitable  wilderness, 
exposed  to  fierce  winds  and  heavy  rains,  his  wants  but 
scantily  supplied  and  his  days  spent  in  an  austerity 
unnaturally  extreme,  and  in  some  respects  disgustingly 
severe.  The  results  of  patience,  mortification  and  re- 
flection were  apparent  not  only  in  the  increase  of  faith 
and  spiritual  wisdom,  but  also  in  the  widespread  fame 
which  attended  them.     More  years  brought  to  Hilarion 


I  1 8  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HIS  TOR  Y. 

both  experience  and  disciples.  Multitudes  thronged 
around  him  as  multitudes  also  thronged  around  Antony. 
His  counsel  was  precious  ;  his  consolation,  beyond  price. 
LaiircE  of  hermitages  were  built  near  him,  and  event- 
ually some  three  or  four  thousand  anchorets  scattered 
throughout  Syria  acknowledged  him  as  their  master 
and  recognized  his  spiritual  oversight.  It  is  supposed 
that  the  learned  and  mystical  Ephraem  visited  him  and 
became  an  eager  disciple ;  certainly,  monachism  received 
a  ready  welcome  and  obtained  a  rapid  growth  in  Meso- 
potamia. 

When  sixty-five  years  old,  Hilarion  received  a  revela- 
tion of  the  death  of  Antony,  and  he  proceeded  to  visit 
the  scenes  of  his  old  master's  labors.  That  done,  with 
his  beloved  disciple  Hesychius,  he  crossed  the  seas  and 
sought  retirement  in  Sicily;  but  in  vain.  He  went  to 
Epidaurus ;  finally,  in  Cyprus,  he  found  a  lonely  cell 
amongst  some  almost  inaccessible  rocks,  and  there  he 
remained  till,  in  371,  he  died.  His  life  was  written  by 
Epiphanius  and  by  Jerome,  and,  like  that  of  Antony  by 
Athanasius,  did  much  to  further  the  idea  of  monachism. 

Another  imitator  of  Antony  not  only  furthered  the 
general  spirit,  but  gave  it  its  next  development.  At 
first  monachism  did  not  advance  beyond  the  laurce,  or 
clusters  of  separate  cells  around  some  famous  anchoret ; 
Pachomius  introduced  the  ccenobium — the  common  life, 
the  community  living  together.  This  reduced  the  soli- 
tary observance  to  a  system  and  gave  it  an  impetus  and 
a  strength  such  as  did  not  belong  to  the  work  of  either 
Antony  or  Hilarion. 

Pachomius  was  a  native  of  Upper  Egypt,  born  of 
heathen  parents  about  292.     In  his  youth  he  served  in 


GR  O  WTH  OF  MONA  CHTSM.  1 1 9 

the  army,  which  he  left,  and,  becoming  a  Christian, 
spent  twelve  years  with  a  solitary  named  Palsemon, 
Here  he  followed  the  usual  rigid  course,  and  in  time 
attained  to  so  great  an  excellency  as  to  receive  a  visit 
from  an  angel.  The  heavenly  messenger  bade  him 
become  to  others  a  teacher  of  that  life  in  which  he 
was  already  proficient,  and  gave  him  a  brazen  tablet  on 
which  were  written  the  rules  of  the  community  he  should 
establish.  Accordingly,  he  gathered  a  number  of  disci- 
ples, and  with  them  set  out  to  find  a  place  where  they 
might  build  'a  house  and  live  in  peace.  A  voice  from 
heaven  indicated  to  Pachomius  the  island  of  Tabenne, 
in  the  Nile,  some  distance  from  Thebes,  toward  Den- 
darah.  Here  the  river  broadens  out  and  is  bordered  by 
plains  of  rich  black  soil  covered  with  cultivated  farms 
and  dotted  with  clumps  of  palms.  The  limestone  hills 
hem  in  the  valley  on  both  sides ;  beyond  them  is  the 
desert,  to  the  east  skirted  by  the  Red  Sea,  to  the  west 
bounded — so  the  ancient  Egyptians  thought — by  the  in- 
finity which  edged  the  region  of  the  dead.  Possibly, 
Pachomius  profited  by  his  military  experience ;  at  any 
rate,  the  organization  and  progress  of  his  establishment 
showed  executive  ability  and  practical  sense.  Before  his 
death,  in  348,  not  only  had  the  community  at  Tabenne 
fourteen  hundred  inmates,  but  seven  other  houses  in 
Thebais  contained  over  sixteen  hundred  members.  In 
less  than  a  century  later  there  were  not  less  than  fifty 
thousand  cenobites. 

The  rules  written  on  the  brazen  tablet  given  by  the 
angel  to  Pachomius  provided  for  a  thoroughly-organized 
society.  The  brethren  were  divided,  according  to  their 
intellectual  and   spiritual  proficiency,  into   twenty-four 


I20  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

classes,  each  of  which  was  named  after  a  letter  of  the 
Greek  alphabet.  The  lowest  class  was  the  iota  (r),  the 
highest  the  xi  (c),  the  complicated  shape  of  the  letter 
corresponding  with  the  excellency  of  the  class.  Each 
group  was  divided  into  hundreds,  and  the  hundreds, 
again,  into  tens,  the  latter  bands  being  under  decurions 
and  the  former  under  centurions.  The  whole  commu- 
nity was  governed  by  an  abbot,  or  archimandrite,  to 
whom  absolute  obedience  was  yielded.  Branches  of 
the  brotherhood  were  subject  to  the  authority  of  the 
chief  of  the  original  house.  Each  society  had  a 
steward,  who  managed  its  business  affairs  and  rendered 
an  account  to  the  head-steward  at  Tabenne.  All  things 
were  in  common :  no  brother  could  speak  of  cloak, 
book  or  pen  as  his  own,  or  in  reference  to  anything  of 
earth  use  the  word  "  my."  The  habit  consisted  of  an 
under-dress  of  linen,  a  hood  and — in  imitation  of  Elijah 
— a  mantle  of  white  goatskin.  The  mantle  was  laid  off 
at  the  reception  of  the  Eucharist,  and  the  tunic  was 
changed  for  the  purpose  of  washing ;  otherwise,  the 
garments  remained  on  day  and  night.  The  rule  was 
unique  and  exact  on  the  point  of  clean  linen.  Sleep 
was  had  in  chairs  so  constructed  as  to  keep  the  body 
almost  in  a  standing  posture.  Each  cell  had  three  in- 
mates. Among  the  daily  duties  prescribed,  prayer  was 
of  primary  importance.  The  angel  directed  Pachomius 
that  during  the  twenty-four  hours  thirty-six  orations 
should  be  offered,  twelve  during  the  day,  twelve  in  the 
evening  and  twelve  at  night.  Some  brethren  exceeded 
this  number  and  at  their  work  went  on  with  their  devo- 
tions. Before  each  meal  psalms  were  sung;  then  in 
silence  and  with  cowl  drawn  closely  over  the  face,  so 


GROWTH  OF  MONACHISM.  121 

that  no  brother  could  see  aught  but  the  food  before  him, 
the  bread  and  the  water  were  taken.  Occasionally  oil, 
salt,  fruits  or  vegetables  were  added  and  one  of  the 
society  read  or  recited  aloud  lections  from  the  Bible. 
The  fourth  and  sixth  days  of  the  week  were  appointed 
for  fasting ;  the  Sabbath  and  the  Lord'a  day,  for  com- 
municating, Nor  was  manual  labor  neglected  :  agricul- 
ture and  boat-building,  basket-weaving,  ropemaking  and 
the  arts  of  the  tanner,  tailor,  carpenter  and  smith  were 
practised,  the  produce  being  taken  down  the  Nile  to 
Alexandria  in  vessels  belonging  to  and  manned  by 
brethren  of  the  community.  Not  only  was  money 
sufficient  to  support  the  brotherhood  thus  brought  in, 
but  much  was  left  over  for  charity.  No  member  was 
allowed  to  receive  or  to  retain  any  earnings  for  himself: 
his  gains  went  into  the  general  fund  or  were  distributed 
among  the  poor,  the  sick  being  the  objects  of  special 
care.  Nor  under  such  a  discipline  were  such  ghostly 
experiences  common  as  those  which  tried  the  anchorets. 
The  demons  which  afflicted  the  man  cut  off  from  all  in- 
tercourse with  his  fellows  avoided  the  company  of  the 
busy,  frugal  and  cleanly  brethren.  Communication  of 
the  whole  society,  the  parent  body  and  the  branches 
was  preserved  by  an  assembly  at  Tabenne  twice  a  year, 
at  Easter  and  in  the  month  of  August.  At  the  latter 
festival  was  celebrated  the  reconciliation  of  all  with  God 
and  with  one  another. 

A  community  similar  to  that  at  Tabenne  was  about 
the  same  time  founded  by  Macarius  ^gyptius,  or  the 
elder,  in  the  desert  of  Scetis,  on  the  Libyan  frontier  of 
Egypt.  This  monk  wrote  spiritual  homilies  and  died 
in  390,  after  sixty  years  of  life  in  the  wilderness.     Am- 


122  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

mon,  like-minded,  established  societies  in  the  same  vast 
solitude — about  the  Natron  mountains,  west  of  Mem- 
phis. These  Nitrian  brethren,  who  by  the  end  of  the 
century  numbered  five  thousand  souls,  lived,  not  in  one 
house,  but  in  separate  cells,  and  observed  such  rules  as 
meeting  togetl\er  for  worship  on  the  first  and  last  days 
of  the  week  and  visiting  one  another  in  case  of  sickness 
or  of  absence  from  divine  service.  Except  on  necessary 
occasions,  strict  silence  was  ^joined.  There  was  no 
individual  possession  of  property :  all  gains  which  a 
brother  might  make  went  into  the  general  fund.  Once 
a  member  "  rather  saving  than  avaricious  "  left  at  his 
death  a  hundred  solidi  which  he  had  earned  by  weav- 
ing flax.  Some  were  for  giving  it  to  the  poor;  some, 
to  the  Church ;  others,  to  the  relatives  of  the  deceased. 
But  the  fathers  of  the  society,  by  the  Holy  Ghost  speak- 
ing in  them,  quoted  the  text,  "  Thy  money  perish  with 
thee !"  and  ordered  that  it  should  be  buried  with  its 
owner.  This,  Jerome,  who  tells  the  story,  adds,  was 
done  not  out  of  harshness  toward  the  deceased  monk, 
but  to  deter  others  from  hoarding. 

Possibly  the  entire  suppression  of  such  practices  was 
economically  necessary,  but  the  killing  of  natural  affec- 
tion, even  if  requisite  to  the  Egyptian  ideal  of  mona- 
chism,  appears  in  a  repulsive  light.  The  anchoret  or 
the  cenobite  was  required  literally  to  give  up  father  and 
mother,  brother  and  sister,  wife  and  child.  He  knew  no 
kindred  according  to  the  flesh.  The  pain  so  complete  a 
severing  of  ties  must  have  caused  indicates  the  terrible 
earnestness  and  sincerity  of  the  man  who  endured  it ;  we 
both  pity  and  admire.  Pior,  one  of  Antony's  disciples, 
on  leaving  his  father's  house  for  the  solitude,  vowed  that 


GROWTH   OF  MONACHISM.  1 23 

he  would  never  again  look  upon  any  of  his  relations. 
Fifty  years  later  his  sister  discovered  that  he  was  still 
alive.  She  was  too  infirm  to  seek  him  out,  but  at  her 
earnest  entreaties  his  superiors  ordered  Pior  to  visit  her. 
Arriving  in  front  of  her  dwelling,  he  sent  her  notice  of 
his  presence.  As  the  door  opened  he  closed  his  eyes, 
and  held  them  obstinately  shut  throughout  the  inter- 
view ;  and,  having  allowed  his  sister  to  see  him  in  this 
fashion,  he  refused  to  enter  her  house  and  hurried  back 
to  the  desert.  Even  Pachomius  could  not  free  himself 
from  the  fetters  of  a  grossly-mistaken  notion.  When 
his  sister,  moved  with  the  fame  of  his  work  and  insti- 
tution, presented  herself  at  Tabenne,  the  abbot,  on  being 
informed  of  her  arrival,  desired  the  porter  to  beg  that 
she  would  be  content  with  the  assurance  of  his  welfare. 
He  would  not  see  her,  but  informed  her  that  if  she  would 
follow  his  manner  of  life  he  would  prepare  her  a  house 
in  the  neighborhood.  She  consented.  The  brethren  of 
Tabenne  built  a  monastery  for  women  ;  Pachomius^  wrote 
for  it  a  rule  on  the  model  of  his  own ;  and  in  a  short 
time  his  sister  became  the  superior  of  a  large  commu- 
nity. The  formation  of  societies  of  female  recluses  after 
this  was  rapid ;  they  were  complete  in  themselves. 

A  still  more  extraordinary  example  of  this  spirit  of 
cruelty  appears  in  Mutius.  He  took  his  son,  a  boy  of 
eight  years,  to  the  gates  of  a  monastery  and  humbly 
knocked  for  admission.  His  appeal  was  for  long  left 
unanswered ;  then  the  brethren,  moved  with  his  con- 
stancy, suffered  him  to  enter  and  begin  a  probation  of 
which  that  weary  waiting  at  the  door  was  scarcely  a 
shadow.  His  boy  was  taken  from  him,  ill-treated  in 
every  way,  dressed  in  rags,  kept  in  a  filthy  state,  often 


124-  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISl'ORY. 

beaten  without  cause;  but  Mutius  made  no  remon- 
strance. At  length,  on  being  told  by  the  abbot  to 
throw  his  son  into  the  river,  he  obeyed  the  command. 
The  boy  was  saved,  and  it  was  revealed  to  the  abbot 
that  the  new  inmate  was  a  second  Abraham. 

Such  tests  of  obedience  were  constantly  required  of 
candidates.  One  man  was  commanded  to  remove  a 
huge  rock,  and  he  struggled  at  the  manifestly  hopeless 
task  until  worn  out  by  the  violence  of  his  exertions. 
At  another  time  he  was  ordered  to  water  a  dry  stick 
twice  a  day,  and  for  a  year  he  faithfully  persisted  in 
the  work,  toiling,  whether  sick  or  well,  through  all  the 
inclemencies  of  the  seasons,  to  fetch  the  water  twice 
every  day  from  a  distance  of  two  miles.  On  being 
asked,  at  length,  by  his  superior  whether  the  plant  had 
struck  root,  the  monk  completed  his  obedience  by  mod- 
estly answering  that  he  did  not  know ;  whereupon  the 
abbot,  pulling  up  the  stick,  released  him  from  his  task. 
Sulpigius  Severus  affirms  that  the  same  thing  was  done 
for  three  years  by  another  monk,  but  that  his  obedience 
was  rewarded  by  the  shooting  of  the  wood,  which  the 
historian  professes  to  have  seen  as  a  flourishing  shrub. 
Possibly  it  was  a  miracle,  but  the  sprig  may  have  been 
of  the  willow.  Absolute  submission  was  a  condition 
of  organized  monachism  in  all  after-ages ;  only  the 
ingenuity  and  tyranny  with  which  tasks  were  devised 
and  exacted  naturally  depended  upon  the  tastes  and 
convictions  of  the  superior  officer. 

The  penances  of  the  Egyptian  cenobites  were  as  re- 
markable as  they  were  severe.  Heron,  one  of  the  mo- 
nastic society  in  the  desert  of  Nitria,  carried  his  morti- 
fications to  such  an  extent  that  he  could  travel  thirty 


GROWTH  OF  MONACHISM.  12$ 

miles  into  the  desert  under  the  scorching  rays  of  the 
sun  without  food  or  drink,  repeating,  as  he  went,  pas- 
sages from  the  Bible,  and  could  live  for  three  months  on 
nothing  but  the  bread  of  the  Eucharist  and  wild  herbs. 
In  his  case  a  reaction  set  in.  He  fled  from  the  solitude 
to  Alexandria,  where  he  plunged  into  every  possible  ex- 
cess. His  wild  license  brought  on  a  severe  illness,  in 
the  course  of  which  he  was  brought  back  to  his  senses, 
repented  of  the  evil,  craved  for  the  higher  life  he  had 
lost,  and  died.  The  same  aberration  afflicted  another 
brother,  Ptolemy  by  name.  He  was  an  anchoret  and 
lived  fourteen  miles  from  the  nearest  spring  of  water. 
In  a  part  of  the  Nitrian  wilds  where  no  man  had  ever 
dared  to  live  he  dwelt  alone  for  fifteen  years,  collecting 
in  earthen  vessels  during  the  months  of  December  and 
January  the  dew  which  at  that  season  plentifully  covers 
the  rocks,  and  using  none  but  that  for  all  his  needs. 
Scepticism  took  hold  of  him :  he  concluded  that  the 
whole  creation  was  a  phantasm  and  sprang  into  exist- 
ence without  a  creator ;  so  he  forsook  the  desert  and, 
wandering  from  one  city  to  another,  gave  himself  up 
to  riot  and  gluttony. 

Others  managed  to  go  through  the  severities  of  this 
life  without  reaching  such  sad  conclusions.  One  of  the 
monks  of  the  Scetis,  called  Paul  the  Simple,  said  three 
hundred  prayers  a  day,  keeping  an  account  of  them  by 
pebbles.  He  regretted  that  he  was  outdone  in  this  re- 
spect by  a  certain  virgin  who  prayed  seven  hundred 
times  within  the  day.  It  was  sensibly  remarked  by  one 
to  whom  he  expressed  his  regret,  "  /  pray  only  one  hun- 
dred times  a  day,  and  my  conscience  never  reproaches 
me  on  that  account ;  if  your  conscience  reproaches  you. 


126  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

either  you   do  not  pray  with  your  heart  or  you  might 
pray  oftener." 

This  was  the  answer  of  Macarius,  surnamed  Alexan- 
drinus,  or  '^  the  Younger,"  to  distinguish  him  from  the 
individual  of  the  same  name  already  mentioned.  He 
was  born  at  Alexandria  about  the  year  304,  and  for 
some  time  practised  the  trade  of  a  confectioner  in  that 
city.  His  conscience  was  peculiar.  He  happened  one 
day,  according  to  Alban  Butler,  inadvertently  to  kill  a 
gnat  that  was  biting  him  in  his  cell,  and,  reflecting  that 
he  had  lost  the  opportunity  of  suffering  that  mortifica- 
tion, he  hastened  from  the  cell  to  the  marshes  of  Scetis, 
which  abound  with  great  flies  whose  stings  pierce  even 
wild  boars.  There  he  continued  six  months,  exposed  to 
those  ravaging  insects ;  and  to  such  a  degree  was  his 
whole  body  disfigured  by  them,  with  sores  and  swell- 
ings, that  when  he  returned  he  was  to  be  known  only 
by  his  voice.  According  to  legend,  he  was  sorely  trou- 
bled by  demons.  The  stories,  though  puerile,  have  a 
certain  interest.  In  a  nine  days'  journey  through  the 
desert,  at  the  end  of  every  mile  he  set  up  a  reed  in  the 
earth  to  mark  his  track  against  he  returned  ;  but  the 
devil  pulled  them  all  up,  made  a  bundle  of  them  and 
placed  them  at  Macarius's  head  while  he  lay  asleep,  so 
that  the  saint  with  great  difficulty  found  his  way  home 
again.  On  another  occasion,  the  worthy  anchoret  hav- 
ing had  the  strange  taste  to  take  a  dead  pagan  out  of 
his  sepulchre  and  use  him  for  a  pillow,  a  number  of 
imps  came  to  frighten  the  saint  by  calling  upon  the 
pagan  to  go  with  them.  This  the  latter  replied  he 
could  not  do,  for  a  pilgrim  lay  upon  him ;  whereupon 
Macarius,  nothing  terrified,  beat  the  pagan  with  his  fist 


GROWTH   OF  MONACHISM.  12/ 

and  bade  him  go  if  he  would,  and  forthwith  the  demons 
themselves  departed.  Another  dead  pagan  in  answer  to 
Macarius's  inquiries  gave  him  much  information  con- 
cerning the  infernal  regions :  in  extent  the  bottomless 
pit  was  deeper  than  from  heaven  to  earth,  and  of  its 
occupants  first  came  pagans,  then  Jews,  and  afterward, 
because  more  grievously  tormented,  false  Christians ; 
from  which  we  learn  that  justice  will  be  meted  accord- 
ing to  gifts  and  opportunities.  Nor  was  Macarius's  ex- 
perience exclusively  supernatural.  He  was  eminent  for 
extraordinary  austerities.  For  seven  years  together  he 
lived  only  on  raw  herbs  and  pulse,  and  for  the  three 
following  years  he  contented  himself  with  four  or  five 
ounces  of  bread  a  day.  The  brethren  at  Tabenne  were 
astonished  when,  on  spending  a  Lent  with  them,  he 
passed  through  the  forty  days  on  the  aliment  furnished 
by  a  few  green  cabbage-leaves  eaten  on  Sundays.  His 
humility  saved  him  from  exultation  in  acts  of  charity. 
When  the  inclination  was  strong  to  quit  the  desert  and 
go  to  Rome  to  serve  the  sick  in  the  hospitals  there,  he 
detected  the  secret  artifice  of  vainglory  inciting  him  to 
attract  the  eyes  and  esteem  of  the  world.  The  devil 
again  interposed,  and,  as  his  importunities  increased, 
Macarius  threw  himself  on  the  ground  in  his  cell  and 
cried  out,  "  Drag  me  hence,  if  you  can,  by  force,  for  I 
will  not  stir."  In  the  morning,  to  escape  further  temp- 
tation, he  filled  two  great  baskets  with  sand,  and,  laying 
them  on  his  shoulders,  travelled  along  the  wilderness, 
thus,  in  his  own  words,  tormenting  his  tormentor.  He 
returned  home  in  the  evening  much  fatigued  in  body, 
but  freed  from  the  temptation.  His  experience  justified 
him  in  writing  a  rule  for  monks,  and,  having  spent  the 


128  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

years  from  335  in  the  wilderness,  about  394  or  404  he 
died. 

The  unquestionable  piety  of  the  disciples  of  mona- 
chism  received  a  further  illustration  in  the  hermit  Pambos. 
He  could  not  read,  and  went  to  some  one  to  be  taught  a 
psalm.  The  thirty-ninth  was  chosen.  As  soon  as  he 
had  heard  the  first  portion  of  the  first  verse — "  I  said, 
I  will  take  heed  to  my  ways,  that  I  sin  not  with  my 
tongue  " — he  departed  without  staying  to  hear  the  re- 
mainder, saying  that  what  he  had  heard  was  enough  if 
only  he  could  learn  to  practise  it.  His  instructor,  meet- 
ing him  six  months  afterward,  reproved  him  for  not 
coming  sooner  to  continue  his  lesson ;  Pambos  replied 
that  he  had  not  yet  practically  learned  the  first  words. 
Many  years  afterward,  being  again  asked  if  he  had  yet 
learned  them,  he  answered,  "  In  nineteen  years  I  have 
scarcely  learned  to  practise  what  they  teach."  Such  a 
reply  indicates  the  reality  of  the  Christian  experience 
and  suggests  the  fulfilment  of  the  noble  words  of  Cyp- 
rian :  ^'  When  the  soul,  in  its  gaze  into  heaven,  has 
recognized  its  Author,  it  rises  higher  than  the  sun  and 
far  transcends  all  this  earthly  power,  and  begins  to  be 
that  which  it  believes  itself  to  be."  There  were  many 
misapprehensions  and  many  misinterpretations,  but  un- 
derlying the  life  was  a  pure  sincerity,  an  honest  desire 
to  do  the  will  of  God. 

The  rapidity  with  which  monachism  spread  was  sec- 
ond scarcely  to  that  of  Christianity  itself  By  the  end 
of  the  fourth  century  it  was  believed  that  in  Egypt  alone 
the  number  of  monks  was  equal  to  the  remainder  of  the 
people.  In  the  one  city  of  Oxyrinchus  the  bishop  com- 
puted ten  thousand  females  and  twenty  thousand  males 


GROWTH  OF  MONACHISM.  1 29 

of  the  monastic  profession.  The  festival  of  Easter  is 
said  to  have  attracted  to  Tabenne  fifty  thousand  breth- 
ren. People  everywhere  were  possessed  with  the  desire 
to  imitate  the  men  who  were  willing  to  sacrifice  all  that 
they  might  win  for  themselves  the  crown  of  life.  Ascet- 
icism in  this  form  became  the  popular  conception  of  the 
religion  of  Jesus  Christ.  There  was  no  alternative  :  if 
a  man  would  be  his  disciple,  he  must  away  to  the  mon- 
astery, and  there  spend  the  years  in  prayers  and  pen- 
ances, in  submission  and  self-abnegation.  While  the 
pyramids  and  the  remains  of  temples  testify  to  the  spirit 
of  the  worshippers  of  Osiris  and  Ra,  the  ruins  of  relig- 
ious houses  which  abound  throughout  the  deserts  and 
mountains  bordering  on  the  Nile  exhibit  the  extent  and 
power  of  this  development  of  Christianity.  As  we  have 
already  seen,  it  speedily  passed  into  Syria;  from  there 
it  magnified  itself  through  Western  Asia.  Europe  was 
soon  open  to  its  influence.  One  land  only  for  long  and 
persistently  opposed  it — a  land  which  happened  to  be 
then  the  brightest  of  all  the  lands  of  Christendom — the 
region  round  about  Carthage,  the  territory  under  the 
jurisdiction  of  the  Church  of  North  Africa.  Neither 
the  ecclesiasticism  of  a  Cyprian  nor  the  severity  of  a 
TertuUian  had  furthered  the  cause  of  monachism  among 
a  people  as  remarkable  for  their  intelligence  and  grasp 
of  truth  as  for  their  devotion  and  purity  of  living.  If 
Rome  was  the  .seat  of  empire  and  Alexandria  the  home 
of  philosophy,  the  city  and  realm  of  the  Phoenician  Car- 
thage was  for  long  the  abiding-place  of  the  highest 
type  of  spiritual  power  and  grace.  But  even  it  was 
not  impregnable.  Its  strongholds  were  taken  by  the 
Egyptian  spirit,  and,  for  good  or  for  ill,  the  mighty  flood 


130  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

covered  the  whole  world,  from  the  river  of  the  Pharaohs 
to  the  gates  of  Heracles  and  from  the  deserts  of  Africa 
to  the  hills  and  valleys  of  Norway  and  Scotland. 

Nor  was  it  in  extent  only  that  the  development  existed. 
Though  as  yet  no  unification  of  rules  had  been  accom- 
plished and  the  system  remained  in  a  crude  though 
popular  form,  the  evolution  tended  very  early  to  eccen- 
tricity. Some  peculiarities  have  been  indicated  already, 
but  nothing  exceeded  in  wild  vagary  and  tasteless  non- 
sense the  life  of  the  Stylites.  Of  these  the  most  remark- 
able was  Symeon  called  "  the  Elder  "  to  distinguish  him 
from  another  pillar-saint  of  the  same  name.  He  was 
born  about  390  in  the  mountain-region  between  Syria 
and  Cilicia.  His  father  was  an  owner  of  sheep,  and  the 
boyhood  of  Symeon  was  spent  in  tending  the  flocks. 
Though  in  the  neighborhood  of  busy  lands  and  famous 
for  the  exploits  of  Cicero  when  proconsul  of  the  prov- 
ince, the  district  is  lonely  and  wild.  To  the  west  lies 
the  rich  and  fertile  Cilicia  Pedias,  walled  in  by  the  lofty 
heights  of  Mount  Taurus  and  traversed  by  the  waters 
of  the  Cydnus,  the  Sarus  and  the  Pyramus.  On  the 
banks  of  the  first-named  stream — in  whose  swiftly-flow- 
ing current  the  great  Alexander,  venturing  to  bathe, 
nearly  lost  his  life — stands  Tarsus,  the  birthplace  of  St. 
Paul.  The  buffalo  frequents  the  marshy  tracts  near  the 
sea,  and  in  the  narrow  pass  which  divides  the  Amanus 
from  the  Mediterranean,  three  centuries  before  Christ, 
the  mighty  Macedonian  won  his  first  victory  over  the 
king  of  Persia.  Away  to  the  east,  by  the  walls  of  Sam- 
osata  and  skirting  the  region  of  Mesopotamia,  flows 
the  P^uphrates.  In  the  dreary  border-land,  the  haunt 
of  bandits   and   leopards   as  well   as   of  herdsmen   and 


GROWTH   OF  MONACHISM.  I3I 

shepherds,  Symeon  remained  till  he  attained  the  age 
of  thirteen  years.  The  solitude  and  the  religious  tend- 
ency of  the  times  prepared  his  mind  for  the  words  which 
he  one  day  heard  in  church  upon  the  duty  of  giving  up 
the  world  and  following  the  example  of  the  holy  men 
and  women  who  had  obeyed  the  divine  calling.  The 
boy  at  once  sought  admission  into  a  strict  Syrian  mon- 
astery ;  there  he  remained  nine  years,  by  his  abstinences 
and  other  mortifications  exciting  the  wonder  and  admi- 
ration of  the  brethren.  A  legend  affirms  that  one  day, 
on  being  sent  to  draw  water,  he  took  the  rough  palm- 
rope  of  the  well,  bound  it  tightly  around  him  and  pre- 
tended that  he  had  been  unable  to  find  it.  At  the  end 
of  a  fortnight  the  secret  was  betrayed  by  the  drops  of 
blood  which  the  rope  forced  out  from  his  flesh,  and  on 
examination  it  was  found  to  have  eaten  into  his  body  so 
deeply  that  it  could  hardly  be  seen.  Symeon  bore  with- 
out a  groan  the  torture  of  having  it  extracted,  but  would 
not  allow  any  remedies  to  be  applied  to  his  wounds,  and 
the  abbot  thereupon  begged  that  he  would  leave  the 
monastery  lest  his  severities  should  raise  a  spirit  of 
emulation  which  might  be  dangerous  to  the  weaker 
brethren.  The  power  of  endurance  does  not  excuse 
the  perversity  of  conscience,  nor  did  the  preserver  of 
the  tradition  by  it  add  to  the  renown  of  his  hero. 
However,  from  the  monastery  the  youth  of  scarcely 
more  than  twenty  years  went  to  the  mountain  of  Te- 
leuissa,  some  thirty  or  forty  miles  east  of  Antioch. 
Here  he  built  a  small  circle  of  stones,  and  in  that  nar- 
row pen,  attached  by  a  ponderous  chain,  he  confined 
himself  for  ten  years.  His  fame  spread,  and,  with  the 
twofold  object  of  escaping  the  pressure  of  the  crowds 


132  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  V. 

which  were  ddlirous  to  touch  him  and  of  making  more 
severe  his  life  of  penance,  he  built  a  pillar  nine  feet  high 
and  one  yard  in  diameter.  The  rest  of  his  life — thirty- 
seven  years — was  spent  on  such  heights.  He  succes- 
sively increased  the  altitude,  till  at  last  he  rested  upon  a 
pillar  forty  cubits,  or  sixty  feet,  high.  Day  and  night 
he  was  exposed  to  the  elements  of  nature,  his  food  one 
scanty  meal  a  week,  brought  to  him  by  some  admiring 
disciples,  and  his  raiment  the  skins  of  beasts.  His  neck 
was  loaded  with  an  iron  chain.  A  railing  around  the 
top  of  the  pillar  kept  him  from  falling  off  and  afforded 
him  some  relief  by  leaning  against  it.  Twice  a  day  he 
exhorted  the  assembled  multitudes,  and  occasionally  he 
uttered  prophecies  and  wrought  miracles.  His  devotions 
were  as  frequent  as  his  attitudes  were  extraordinary. 
Sometimes  he  prayed  kneeling,  sometimes  standing 
with  his  arms  stretched  out  in  the  form  of  a  cross,  but 
more  often  he  kept  continually  bending  his  thin,  shriv- 
elled body  so  that  his  forehead  almost  touched  his  feet. 
A  spectator  once  counted  twelve  hundred  and  forty-four 
repetitions  of  this  movement,  and  then  lost  his  reckon- 
ing. At  first  his  peculiar  manner  of  life  created  oppo- 
sition— one  community  of  monks  reminded  him  that 
such  fashions  of  holiness  as  had  sufficed  the  saints  of 
earlier  days  were  still  sufficient,  and  the  brethren  of 
Egypt  excommunicated  him  for  his  innovation — but  in 
a  little  while  not  only  was  he  received  into  favor,  but 
his  life  was  compared  to  that  of  the  angels,  offering  up 
prayers  for  men  from  his  elevated  station  and  bringing 
down  graces  on  them. 

Satan  considered  Symeon  and  designed  his  downfall ; 
he  appeared  to  him  in  the  form  of  an  angel  and  accom- 


GROWTH  OF  MONACIIISM.  I  33 

panied  by  a  chariot  of  fire.  A  second  El^ah  was  invited 
to  ascend  to  the  company  of  saints  and  angels  who  were 
eager  to  welcome  him ;  but  when  Symeon,  on  raising 
his  right  foot  to  enter  the  chariot,  made  the  sign  of  the 
cross,  the  tempter  vanished.  The  act  of  presumption 
was  punished  with  an  ulcer  in  the  thigh,  and  Symeon 
resolved  that  the  foot  which  he  had  put  forth  should 
never  again  touch  his  pillar.  During  the  remaining 
year  of  his  life  he  supported  himself  on  one  leg. 

So  great  was  the  admiration  excited  by  this  curious 
and  pitiful  exhibition  of  religious  oddity  that  from  many 
and  distant  lands  pilgrims  came  to  receive  from  Symeon 
blessing,  counsel,  sympathy,  and  sometimes  healing. 
From  India  and  Ethiopia,  the  countries  of  Western 
Europe,  even  from  Britain,  flowed  the  multitudes.  The 
tribes  of  Saracens  disputed  in  arms  the  honor  of  his  ben- 
ediction. Kings  and  bishops,  the  queens  of  Arabia  and 
Persia,  and  the  emperor  himself,  consulted  him  upon 
weighty  affairs  of  Church  and  State,  and  gratefully 
acknowledged  his  wise  policy  and  his  supernatural  vir- 
tue. Brusque  in  speech-  and  obstinate  in  purpose,  yet 
he  offended  no  one.  When  he  died,  in  460,  at  the  age 
of  seventy-two,  nature  and  man  together  mourned.  The 
birds  wheeled  about  his  pillar  uttering  doleful  cries ;  the 
beasts  filled  the  air  with  their  groans  to  a  distance  of 
many  miles ;  while  the  mountains,  the  forests  and  the 
plains  were  enveloped  in  a  dense  and  sympathetic  gloom. 
His  remains  were  transported  from  the  scene  of  his  aus- 
terities to  Antioch  by  a  solemn  procession  of  high  dig- 
nitaries of  the  Empire  and  the  Church — six  bishops, 
twenty-one  tribunes  and  six  thousand  soldiers — and  in 
place  of  her  walls,  recently  overthrown  by  an  earth- 


134  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

quake,  the  city%eceived  with  reverence  and  deh'ght  her 
most  precious  saint  and  her  most  impregnable  defence. 

The  example  set  by  this  renowned  ascetic  was  fol- 
lowed by  some  whose  aim  seems  to  have  been  in  stupid 
austerity  to  go  beyond  their  master.  Symeon  bequeathed 
his  cowl  to  the  emperor  of  the  East,  the  Thracian  Leo, 
by  the  orthodox  surnamed  "  the  Great "  and  by  the 
Arians  nicknamed  "  the  Butcher,"  but  the  wearer  of 
the  purple  neither  esteemed  the  saint  nor  appreciated 
his  gift,  and  the  bearer — a  disciple,  Sergius  by  name — 
bestowed  it  upon  Daniel,  a  monk  of  Mesopotamian 
birth,  an  admirer  of  Symeon  and  famous  for  both  his 
holiness  and  his  miracles.  No  sooner  had  the  sacred 
hood  touched  the  head  of  Daniel  than  he  began  to 
dream  dreams  which  urged  him  to  take  to  the  life  on 
a  pillar.  A  dove  led  him  to  a  spot  about  four  miles 
north  of  Constantinople.  Opposition  arose  from  the 
owner  of  the  soil,  w^hose  permission  had  not  been 
asked,  and  from  the  patriarch  Gennadius,  who  was 
either  envious  of  Daniel's  holiness  or  suspicious  of  his 
secret  vanity.  Complaints  were  made  to  the  emperor, 
and,  had  it  not  been  for  prompt  and  surprising  miracles, 
Daniel  would  have  been  dislodged.  Some  time  after, 
Gennadius  was  directed  by  a  vision  to  give  priesthood 
to  the  Stylite,  and  upon  Daniel's  refusing  either  to  allow 
the  patriarch  to  approach  him  or  to  come  down  from  his 
exalted  station  the  form  of  ordination  was  gone  through 
with  at  the  foot  of  the  pillar.  Daniel  then  permitted  a 
ladder  to  be  brought,  and  the  patriarch,  mounting  to  the 
top  of  the  column,  administered  the  Eucharist  to  the  new- 
ly-ordained priest  and  received  it  at  his  hands.  Before 
long  he  was  as  famous  as  Symeon  had  been.     Kings  and 


GROWTH  OF  AfONACJIISM.  I  35 

emperors  visited  him  with  reverence  and  regarded  his 
utterances  as  those  of  a  heavenly  oracle.  He  was  sup- 
posed to  have  the  gifts  of  prophecy  and  miracles,  and 
showed  his  humility  and  his  respect  for  the  Church  by 
discouraging  people  who  approached  him  with  complaints 
against  their  bishops.  It  was  in  vain  that  his  disciples 
endeavored  to  discover  by  what  nourishment  he  sup- 
ported life.  From  continually  standing  his  feet  became 
covered  with  sores  and  ulcers,  and  sometimes  the  high 
winds  of  Thrace  stripped  him  of  his  scanty  clothing  and 
almost  blew  him  away.  In  the  winter  he  was  not  unfre- 
quently  covered  with  snow  and  ice,  until  Leo  forcibly 
enclosed  the  top  of  his  pillar  with  a  shed.  At  last,  in  the 
year  494,  at  the  age  of  eighty,  and  after  thirty-three 
years  of  this  vainglorious  and  unprofitable  life,  death 
put  a  period  to  his  miseries  and  bestowed  upon  him  an 
unenviable  saintship. 

A  contemporary,  Symeon  Maumastorites,  is  said  to 
have  dwelt  sixty  years  on  his  pillar,  and  down  to  the 
twelfth  century  imitators  were  to  be  found  in  Syria  and 
in  Greece ;  but,  except  in  the  warm  countries  of  the 
East,  the  fashion  found  little  favor.  When  one  Wulfi- 
laich,  toward  the  end  of  the  sixth  century,  attempted  to 
practise  it  in  the  district  of  Treves,  the  neighboring 
bishops  ordered  his  pillar  to  be  demolished.  Both 
climate  and  practical  common  sense  prevented  the 
movement  from  making  any  foothold  in  the  Latin 
and  the  Teutonic  lands  of  Europe. 

Other  similarly  miserable  exaggerations  were  dis- 
played in  the  Boscoi.  or  "  grazers."  These  derived  their 
name  from  their  humble  practice  of  grazing  in  the  fields 
of  Mesopotamia  and  Palestine  with  the  herds  of  cattle. 


I  36  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  Y. 

They  dwelt  in  mountains  or  in  deserts,  and,  without  roof 
to  sheher  them  from  the  heat  and  the  cold,  almost  entire- 
ly naked  and  browsing  on  grass  and  herbs,  they  lost  the 
likeness  of  humanity  and  became  as  the  beasts  that  per- 
ish. That  which  Nebuchadnezzar  did  from  necessity  they 
did  from  choice.  Ephraem  the  Edessene  composed  a 
panegyric  upon  them ;  later  ages  have  universally  con- 
demned so  painful  a  caricature  of  life  and  lamented  so 
unhappy  a  disease  of  the  human  mind. 

To  such  an  extreme  of  extravagance  did  the  fanati- 
cism proceed  that  some  anchorets  actually  feigned  mad- 
ness to  show  to  the  people  their  superiority  to  all  human 
feelings  and  their  contempt  for  worldly  glory.  They 
passed  from  city  to  city  and  before  admiring  throngs 
displayed  a  ridiculous  and  an  unseemly  behavior.  Few, 
indeed,  imitated  them  ;  for,  low  as  man  may  fall  both  in 
intelligence  and  in  morals,  he  is  not  liable  voluntarily 
to  disown  his  reason  and  to  make  himself  lower  than 
the  creation  which  is  guided  by  instinct. 

It  will  be  understood  that  none  of  these  abnormal  con- 
ditions of  monachism  developed  within  the  communities  : 
there  a  healthier  spirit  prevailed ;  and,  though  the  whole 
conception  was  as  yet  in  a  crude  and  imperfect  state, 
it  was  gradually  working  toward  that  which,  by  bring- 
ing order  out  of  chaos  and  by  transplanting  the  move- 
ment in  other  lands,  should  make  it  both  useful  to  the 
Church  and  an  honor  to  humanity.  From  the  first  these 
wild  vagaries  were  condemned  by  the  leaders  both  in  the 
Church  and  within  the  system  itself  The  brutish  igno- 
rance and  the  insane  devices  of  the  Egyptian  and  Syrian 
devotees  could  not  meet  with  the  approval  of  the  men 
trained  in  the  schools  of  Alexandria  or  accustomed  to 


GROWTH  OF  MONACIIISM,  1 37 

the  life  of  Constantinople,  Rome  and  other  leading  cities 
of  the  Empire.  The  unthinking  multitudes  might  ad- 
mire, as  they  ever  do  admire  that  which  is  strange  and 
unnatural ;  but  even  they  would  find  in  the  utter  abnega- 
tion of  self  and  society  needful  to  make  such  eccentri- 
cities possible  a  barrier  against  imitation  through  which 
few  would  venture  to  break.  It  was  not,  indeed,  easy 
to  give  up  so  much  that  the  simple  anchoretic  or 
cenobitic  discipline  demanded ;  to  go  beyond  into  the 
excesses  of  the  Stylitoi  or  the  Boscoi  required  not  only 
that,  but,  besides,  a  mental  condition  which  would  now 
be  considered  a  qualification  for  a  place  other  than 
the  top  of  a  pillar  *or  a  grazing-spot  in  a  meadow. 
The  most  merciful  interpretation  we  can  give  to  the 
fashion  we  thus  deplore  is  to  ascribe  it  to  the  evo- 
lution of  madness.  Pure,  perhaps,  in  their  desires, 
solitude,  emulation  and  ignorance  led  these  men  on  till 
the  affected  brain  manifested  itself  in  a  vitiated  and  an 
inhuman  life.  At  any  rate,  monachism  is  no  more  to 
be  charged  with  such  interpretations  of  its  principles 
than  is  Christianity  itself  with  the  abuses  exhibited 
both  in  sects  and  in  individuals  who  profess  to  be 
guided  by  its  spirit  and  to  observe  its  precepts.  Every 
system  has  its  extremes — unauthorized,  irrational  and 
deplorable — but  no  extremes  describe  the  system  or 
reveal  its  life. 

It  is  well  here  to  direct  attention  to  the  fact  that  the 
clergy  neither  originated  nor  for  long  interfered  with 
monachism :  a  monk  was  no  more  necessarily  a  priest 
than  an  abbot  was  a  bishop.  Both  the  solitary  and  the 
cenobite  life  were  distinct  from  the  ministry ;  the  latter, 
acknowledged  to  be  divine  in  its  establishment,  did  not 


138  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

need,  and  never  claimed  to  have,  the  supernatural  revela- 
tions which  accompanied  the  beginnings  of  almost  every 
development  of  monachism.  In  fact,  the  clergy  long 
looked  with  suspicion  and  antagonism  upon  both  her- 
mits and  brotherhoods — some  even  in  the  ages  when 
the  whole  Church  was  under  the  influence  of  these 
communities.  The  priest  was  married  and  lived  with 
his  family  in  the  midst  of  his  people;  he  was  familiar 
with  the  ways  of  the  world  and  mingled  in  its  various 
pursuits.  Some  scholarship  was  needful  for  his  work ; 
much  sympathy  and  knowledge  of  human  nature,  to 
make  him  efficient  both  as  a  preacher  and  as  a  pastor. 
His  inclinations  and  his  life,  therefore,  did  not  lead  him 
to  look  upon  the  wilderness  and  the  monastery  with 
favor,  while  his  busy,  practical  mind  enabled  him  fre- 
quently to  see  more  than  true,  godly  notions  swaying 
the  career  of  many  who  separated  themselves  from  their 
fellows.  But  he  was  at  a  disadvantage.  He  preached 
self-denial,  the  giving  up  of  all  things  for  God's  sake, 
abstemiousness  of  diet  and  pleasures,  the  working  out 
of  salvation  by  deeds  of  penance  and  charity;  the  monk 
who  wandered  through  the  streets  of  his  parish,  and 
perhaps  visited  the  homes  of  his  people,  was  the  actual, 
living  exemplification  of  these  virtues.  Men  saw  his  suf- 
ferings voluntarily  inflicted,  and  they  wondered  at  the 
severity  and  the  purity  of  a  life  which  was  within  their 
conception,  but  beyond  their  imitation.  This  stranger, 
emaciated,  worn  out  by  austerities,  clad  in  coarse  sack- 
cloth or  stiff  skins,  fasting,  praying,  watching,  intensely 
in  earnest,  regardless  of  the  world, — -how  noble  appeared 
his  life !  How  like  he  was  unto  Him  who  had  no  place 
where  to  lay  his  head !     How  much  truer  he  seemed 


GROWTH  OF  MONACHISM. 


139 


than  the  priest  whom  they  saw  every  day  and  whose 
infirmities  of  temper  and  deficiencies  of  work  they  knew 
so  well !  And  thus  gradually  the  clerical  influence  was 
undermined,  till  after  a  while  bishops  began  to  confer 
priesthood  on  some  of  the  monks  and  some  of  the 
clergy  turned  monk,  and  monachism  obtained  power 
within  the  parochial  organization.  Even  the  episcopate 
itself  was  affected :  monks  became  bishops  and  bishops 
became  monks.  Yet  all  through  the  ages,  though  the 
priesthood  and  the  monastic  life  were  frequently  held 
by  the  same  individual,  the  two  things  were  not  neces- 
sarily allied :  there  were  always  clergy  who  were  not 
hermits  or  cenobites,  and  there  were  always  hermits 
and  cenobites  who  were  not  clergy. 

It  is  also  worthy  of  note  that,  while  the  communities 
of  men  and  women  under  the  vows  of  monachism  were 
separate  from  the  parish,  they  for  many  years  recognized 
the  jurisdiction  of  the  bishop.  The  diocese  was  com- 
plete in  itself  and  he  was  its  head  and  its  ruler,  the  cen- 
tre of  all  work  and  the  authority  over  all  sorts  and  con- 
ditions of  men.  In  the  absence  of  any  perfect  organiza- 
tion or  general  rule,  his  power  in  the  monasteries  within 
his  spiritual  territory  varied  from  an  almost  absolute 
superintendency  to  a  refined  and  delicate  visitorship. 
But  even  as  the  episcopate  developed  and  was  magni- 
fied in  the  Church  the  tendency  of  monachism  was  to 
independence  and  autonomy.  The  abbot  aspired  to 
free  and  unfettered  government ;  the  community  strove 
against  the  possibility  of  the  interference  of  a  clerical 
synod  or  of  a  bishop  who  might  not  only  disapprove  of, 
but  positively  oppose,  both  its  principles  and  its  exist- 
ence.    So  far  no  divergence  from  the  universal  order  of 


140  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Christendom  that  the  bishop  should  be  over  all  was 
apparent;  neither  monachism  nor  papacy  expressed 
any  antagonism  to  him ;  but  rebellion  was  innate  in 
the  system,  and  it  needed  only  time  to  make  it  supreme 
over  its  own  votaries  and  powerful  outside  of  its  own 
borders. 


CHAPTER  V. 

(Sti)ot^  from  ^ima. 

The  history  of  Rome  is  both  fascinating  and  signif- 
icant. From  the  Roman  people  we  have  derived  much 
of  our  Hterature,  laws,  customs  and  economy  ;  from  their 
experience  we  may  gather,  perchance,  that  which  may 
save  us  from  much  sorrow  and  from  final  ruin.  For, 
wise  and  mighty  as  they  were,  they  could  not  avert  the 
decline  of  their  power.  Throughout  the  early  centuries 
of  the  Christian  era  that  decline  continued.  In  name 
the  republic  still  lived — its  customs  were  honored  and 
its  forms  were  observed — but  greater  than  the  Senate 
were  the  soldiers,  and  the  latter  rather  than  the  former 
gave  the  Roman  world  its  master.  In  that  master, 
without  either  the  name  or  the  state  of  rex,  were  united 
the  offices  of  consul  and  tribune,  and  under  the  humble 
title  of  "  imperator  "  was  gathered  all  the  power  which 
irresponsible  ambition  desired  and  which  a  vast  army 
was  glad  to  give.  Thus,  with  a  Senate  forced  into 
acquiescence,  the  emperor  reigned — nominally  as  the 
first  magistrate  of  the  commonwealth,  actually  as  the 
personification  of  military  despotism — and  the  world 
lay  at  his  feet  cowering  and  vimless.  Everything,  there- 
fore, depended  upon  the  character  and  the  disposition 
of  the  emperor.  Nearly  all  who  held  the  office  were 
remarkable   either  for  their  virtues   or  for  their  vices. 

141 


142  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

After  Trajan,  among  the  former  were  Antoninus,  Mar- 
cus Aurelius,  Alexander  Severus  and  Claudius  Gothicus; 
among  the  latter  were  Commodus,  Caracalla  and  Elagab- 
alus.  But  the  day  was  near  at  hand  when  Rome  her- 
self should  be  lost  in  the  world  she  had  made,  and  when 
the  very  name  of  the  republic  should  fade  into  the  glory 
or  the  shame  of  empire. 

This  day  began  in  A.  d.  284,  when  the  purple  fell  to 
Diocletian,  a  brave  soldier  and  a  native  of  Dalmatia. 
In  him  flowed  no  patrician,  or  even  Roman,  blood,  but 
the  strength  and  vigor  of  his  mind,  his  prudence,  dex- 
terity and  statesmanship,  were  manifested  in  his  work. 
Of  a  weak  and  shattered  realm  he  reconstructed  a  strong 
and  compact  dominion,  and  gave  to  it  peace  within  and 
triumph  abroad.  From  securing  his  own  personal  pow- 
er he  proceeded  to  clear  away  all  the  fictions  and  dis- 
guises by  which  the  people  persuaded  themselves  that 
they  were  still  as  their  fathers  were,  and  in  their  stead 
to  give  them  a  despotic  court  and  a  despotic  govern- 
ment Rome  now  knew  that  she  had  a  lord,  and  one 
who  was  not  afraid  to  declare  himself  such.  Rome 
soon  learned  that  the  capital  of  the  empire  was  not 
necessarily  the  city  on  the  Tiber,  but  wheresoever  the 
emperor  chose  to  dwell.  And  ere  long  the  emperor 
withdrew  his  court  and  left  Rome  to  grieve  over  her 
dishonor,  and,  as  events  afterward  turned  out,  to  make 
of  the  Christian  bishop  a  pope — of  the  successor  of  the 
fisherman  of  Galilee  a  pontifex  maxiriiiis.  Had  Diocle- 
tian remained  in  Rome,  in  all  probability  there  had  been 
in  later  years  no  papacy — no  greater  ecclesiastical  digni- 
tary than  he  who  now  rules  in  Constantinople  or  he  who 
governs  at  Canterbury. 


ECHOES  FROM  NICJZA.  1 43 

Morecfv'er,  Diocletian  found  the  weight  of  empire  too 
much  for  one  pair  of  shoulders ;  so  in  286  he  selected 
as  a  colleague  his  countryman  the  unlettered  but  valiant 
and  experienced  soldier  Maximianus,  and,  sharing  the 
jurisdiction  between  them,  the  two  reigned  under  the 
title  of  "Augusti."  But  the  cares  multiplied,  and,  in 
292,  Diocletian  determined  upon  dividing  the  empire 
into  four  parts,  and  upon  associating  with  himself  and 
Maximianus  two  coadjutors  who  should  be  called  "  Cae- 
sars." Two  fellow-Illyrians  were  chosen — Constantius 
Chlorus  and  Galerius — and,  to  make  more  sure  of  their 
loyalty,  both  were  obliged  to  repudiate  their  wives  and 
to  marry,  the  former  Theodora,  stepdaughter  of  Max- 
imianus, and  the  latter  Valeria,  daughter  of  Diocletian. 
Both  the  Caesars  were  to  recognize  the  superior  rank 
of  the  Augusti,  and,  of  the  Augusti,  Diocletian  remained 
supreme.  The  Roman  world,  therefore,  consisted  of 
four  great  divisions  which  in  time  were  called  "  praeto- 
rian prefectures,"  and,  for  readier  government,  the  prefec- 
tures were  broken  up  into  dioceses,  and  the  dioceses  into 
provinces.  Of  these  divisions,  that  of  the  extreme  West, 
embracing  Britain,  Gaul  and  Spain,  was  assigned  to  Con- 
stantius, with  his  capital  at  Treves ;  that  of  the  extreme 
East,  consisting  of  Thrace,  Asia,  Syria  and  Egypt,  was 
retained  by  Diocletian,  with  his  capital  at  Nicomedia ; 
that  of  the  Western  mid-empire,  covering  Italy  and 
Africa,  was  given  to  Maximianus,  with  his  capital  at 
Milan ;  and  that  of  the  Eastern  mid-empire,  containing 
Illyricum  and  the  Danubian  provinces,  fell  to  the  lot 
of  Galerius,  with  his  capital  at  Sirmium.  The  estab- 
lishment of  four  strange  and  remote  cities  as  capitals 
degraded   Rome    still    m^ore   and  enabled  the  Augusti 


144  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

and  the  Caesars  to  strengthen  their  position,  to  enforce 
their  authority,  and  to  surround  themselves  with  all  the 
splendor  of  kings.  Their  persons  receive  a  sacred  and 
mysterious  grandeur;  they  are  robed  in  vestments  of 
gold ;  upon  their  feet  are  slippers  of  silk  dyed  in  pur- 
ple and  embroidered  with  gems ;  upon  their  brow  is  set 
a  diadem  of  marvellous  workmanship  and  costly  mate- 
rials ;  and  they  are  fenced  around  with  a  thousand  intri- 
cacies of  complicated  etiquette.  The  empire  learned  to 
obey  its  lords  and  to  fear  their  majesty.  Rebellion  was 
next  to  impossible,  since  the  army  was  divided  into  four 
parts ;  every  long  line  of  frontier  was  carefully  guarded, 
so  as  to  prevent  invasion  ;  and  it  was  hoped  that  jealousy 
would  hinder  any  two  of  the  princes  uniting  in  any  act 
of  treason  to  the  whole. 

That  Diocletian  for  the  most  part  exercised  his  tre- 
mendous powers  with  wisdom  and  mercy  is  no  more  to 
be  denied  than  that  such  tremendous  powers  were  neces- 
sary for  the  salvation  of  the  empire.  His  success  nei- 
ther turned  his  head  nor  changed  his  heart ;  to  the  last 
he  retained  his  practical  sense  and  his  kindly  disposition. 
If  for  his  buildings,  his  bridges  and  roads  and  the  main- 
tenance of  the  state  and  the  army  he  taxed  the  people 
heavily  and  mercilessly,  he  also  abolished  monopolies, 
encouraged  trade,  advanced  merit,  repressed  corruption, 
administered  justice,  and  with  singular  unselfishness 
sought  to  further  the  comfort  and  the  prosperity  of  his 
subjects.  If  he  was  a  despot,  it  was  because  despotism 
was  the  only  Hope  of  Rome.  Nor  did  he  act  without 
sympathy:  the  people  willingly  accepted,  and  even  sought 
to  further,  his  policy.  But  in  the  way  of  that  policy  the 
people   saw  what  Diocletian  did  not  see.      Rightly  or 


ECHOES  FROM  NIC^A.  I45 

wrongly,  they  felt  that  the  growth  of  Christianity  was 
inimical  to  the  growth  of  absolutism  and  fatal  to  the 
continuance  of  the  ancient  regime.  The  empire  had  now 
become  more  than  the  gods,  and  the  religious  antago- 
nism had  changed  into  a  political  antagonism.  Diocle- 
tian was  a  devout  pagan,  but,  with  noble  indifference  to 
personal  opinions,  he  had  suffered  the  Christians  to  pur- 
sue their  own  devices ;  he  protected  them  from  moles- 
tation, as  he  protected  all  his  subjects ;  he  allowed  them 
to  build  churches  and  to  hold  public  services ;  some  of 
his  state  and  household  officers  were  avowed  disciples  of 
the  Lord  Jesus ;  and  it  was  an  open  secret  that  his  own 
wife  and  daughter  favored  Christianity  and  abstained 
from  heathen  worship.  By  this  time  almost  every  im- 
portant city  in  the  empire  had  its  bishop ;  the  bishops 
in  each  province  were  now  united  under  one  of  their 
number,  who  was  called  "  metropolitan ;"  synods  were 
held  once  or  twice  a  year;  colleges  were  established; 
clergy  were  scattered  throughout  town  and  country 
either  as  pastors  or  as  missionaries ;  and,  what  was  per- 
haps one  of  the  surest  signs  of  prosperity,  heresies  and 
divisions  were  not  uncommon.  Therefore  everywhere 
the  adherents  of  the  old  systems  found  themselves  con- 
fronted with  an  organized  vigorous  society  ever  on  the 
alert  to  further  its  interests,  aggressive,  irreconcilable, 
recognizing  Christ  to  be  greater  than  Caesar,  convinced 
of  its  undying  life,  and  by  its  very  inherent  principles 
threatening  to  overthrow  much,  if  not  all,  that  the  world 
now  held  dear. 

The  danger  from  this  compact  and  powerful  body  was 
pointed  out  to  Diocletian.     From  the  banks  of  the  Eu- 
phrates and  from  the.  Taurian  hills  against  the  sun-ris- 
10 


146  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

ing  to  the  very  shores  of  the  Atlantic,  spread  the  follow- 
ers of  Jesus,  bound  together  by  the  closest  ties  of  sym- 
pathy and  governed  by  a  disciplined  hierarchy  and  a 
graduated  clergy.  But  for  nineteen  years  Diocletian  was 
deaf  to  all  persuasions.  Then,  in  A.  d.  303,  when  he  was 
rapidly  falling  into  ill-health,  Galerius  prevailed  upon 
him  to  issue  an  edict  of  repression.  Reluctantly  he  fell 
under  the  influence  of  this  powerful  but  vicious  Caesar. 
One  edict  after  another  was  sent  out,  and  soon  began 
a  persecution  which  proved  to  be  the  severest,  as  it  was 
also  the  last,  of  all.  It  began  in  his  own  capital  of  Nico- 
media,  and  spread  with  the  rapidity  of  a  wind-swept  fire 
throughout  his  entire  jurisdiction.  Galerius  eagerly  car- 
ried it  on  in  his  part  of  the  empire;  with  even  greater 
avidity  the  coarse  and  superstitious  Maximianus  obeyed 
the  edict ;  nor,  in  spite  of  the  reluctance  of  Constantius, 
did  the  West  altogether  escape.  Never  was  such  fero- 
city exhibited  or  such  wholesale  and  widespread  ruin 
wrought.  Cruelty  exhausted  its  ingenuity;  all  that 
demoniacal  passion  could  do  was  done.  In  some  places 
the  prisons  were  filled  with  bishops  and  clergy ;  so  that 
no  room  could  be  found  for  malefactors.  Women  were 
outraged  and  torn  to  pieces ;  children  were  crushed  and 
dashed  to  death ;  men  were  crucified,  beheaded,  hanged, 
drowned,  impaled,  and  sometimes,  smeared  over  with 
honey,  left  bound  in  the  burning  sun  to  be  stung  to 
death  by  bees  and  wasps.  The  very  strength  and  thor- 
ough government  of  the  empire  made  the  persecution 
all  the  more  complete.  Every  province,  town  and  vil- 
lage felt  the  pulsation  of  the  heart  at  Nicomedia.  The 
awfulness  of  the  trial  made  so  deep  an  impression  upon 
the  Church   that   for  three  or  four  centuries  after  the 


ECHOES  FROM  NICMA.  1 47 

years  were  numbered,  not  from  the  era  of  Christianity, 
but  from  the  era  of  martyrs — a.  d.  284.  Special  efforts 
were  made  to  destroy  the  sacred  books  of  the  Christians 
and  all  the  accessories  of  their  worship,  and,  while  the 
Church  lightly  esteemed  those  of  her  number  who  in 
the  hour  of  fear  "  lapsed  "  from  the  faith,  she  regarded 
with  abhorrence  the  traditores — those  who  had  handed 
over  to  the  heathen  the  inspired  books,  the  liturgies,  the 
legenda  collecta,  the  consecrated  vessels  or  the  roll  of 
members.  Weak  ones  there  were,  for  in  the  ore  are 
both  gold  and  dross ;  but,  for  the  greater  part,  the 
Church  was  faithful  unto  death.  Nor  was  Christianity 
in  this  way  to  be  stamped  out:  mighty  as  were  the 
Augusti  and  the  Caesars,  still  mightier  was  the  Christ. 
And  thus  the  three  hundred  years  in  which  the 
Church  testified  for  her  Lord  by  blood  have  a  glory 
of  their  own.  They  set  forth  the  radiance  of  tribula- 
tion and  the  splendor  of  suffering.  Exultingly  could 
St.  Cyprian  point  to  the  Bride  of  Christ  in  her  mingle- 
hued  robe :  "  She  was  white  before  in  the  works  of  the 
brethren ;  now  she  has  become  purple  in  the  blood  of 
the  martyrs."  We  think  with  reverence  of  those  whose 
work  or  office  made  them  great  in  Sion — of  the  personal 
disciples  of  the  apostles,  Clement,  Polycarp  and  Igna- 
tius ;  of  Justin  Martyr,  Pothinus,  Irenaeus  and  Hippol- 
ytus ;  of  the  Alexandrian  doctors  Clement  and  Origen ; 
and  of  the  Latin  Fathers  Tertullian,  Cyprian  and  Minu- 
cius  Felix ;  but  we  think  of  men  such  as  they  not  so 
much  because  of  the  deeds  of  their  life  as  for  their  tes- 
timony unto  death.  Ringing  through  the  centuries 
come  the  words  of  Polycarp  as  he  stood  in  his  fiery 
trial  and  was   urged  to  revile  the  Christ :  "  Fourscore 


148  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

and  six  years  have  I  been  his  servant,  and  he  hath  done 
me  no  wrong;  how,  then,  can  I  blaspheme  my  King 
who  saved  me  ?"  Not  less  memorable  is  the  answer  of 
Cyprian  to  the  sentence,  "  Our  pleasure  is  that  Thascius 
Cyprianus  be  executed  by  the  sword ;"  simply  and  elo- 
quently said  he,  "  Thanks  be  to  God !"  Ten  times  did 
paganism  arise  in  its  fierce  might ;  ten  times  was  the 
Church  cast  into  great  tribulation  and  were  multitudes 
of  the  Lord's  confessors  thrust  out  of  the  world.  And 
amid  the  noble  army  of  martyrs,  white-robed  and  scar- 
let-stained, were  holy  women  such  as  Perpetua  and 
Felicitas,  the  queenly  Catherine  and  Margaret,  daisy 
and  pearl  of  Paradise,  the  tender  children  Prisca  and 
Faith,  and  the  maidens  Caecilia,  Agnes,  Agatha  and 
Lucy.  These  were  faithful  and  true ;  these  were  the 
foundation-stones  upon  which  in  great  imperial  Rome 
was  being  built  the  city  of  God.  They  testified ;  then 
they  went  to  Him  who  wiped  the  tears  from  off  their 
face  and  set  upon  their  brow  the  crown  of  life. 

In  this  same  year  303,  Diocletian's  health  rapidly  grew 
worse.  Though  scarcely  sixty  years  of  age,  his  hercu- 
lean labors  had  told  upon  him,  and  the  ambitious  Gale- 
rius  urged  him  and  Maximianus  to  resign  the  empire. 
Two  years  later  both  Augusti  consented.  Diocletian 
exalted  Constantius  and  Galerius  to  the  rank  of  Augus- 
ti, and,  passing  by  Constantine  the  son  of  Constantius 
and  Maxentius  the  son  of  Maximianus,  created  the  two 
nephews  of  Galerius,  Maximin  and  Severus,  Caesars. 
He  then  cast  off  the  purple,  went  back  to  his  native 
Dalmatia  and  occupied  the  remaining  years  of  his  life  in 
building  and  gardening.  Health  and  vigor  returned,  but 
nothing  would  tempt  him  to  resume  the  office  he  had 


ECHOES  FROM  NICMA.  1 49 

laid  aside.  Once  he  was  urged  to  do  so;  he  simply 
pointed  to  his  cabbages,  and  refused  to  abandon  them 
for  the  cares  of  state. 

With  the  arrangements  of  Diocletian  neither  Constan- 
tius  nor  his  son  Constantine  was  satisfied.  The  latter 
was  now  about  thirty  years  of  age,  noble  in  person, 
endowed  with  the  choicest  gifts  of  nature  and  versed 
alike  in  the  art  of  war  and  in  the  customs  of  the  court. 
Of  all  those  around  Diocletian,  he  was  best  fitted  to  car- 
ry on  the  policy  which  Diocletian  had  inaugurated ;  but 
no  appointment  was  given  him.  When  his  father  was 
made  Caesar  and  sent  to  Britain,  Constantine  was  kept 
at  Nicomedia  as  a  sort  of  hostage,  and  in  this  position 
Galerius,  jealous  of  his  popularity  and  fearful  of  his 
genius,  sought  to  continue  him.  He  managed,  how- 
ever, to  escape  to  his  father;  and  when,  at  York,  in 
July,  306,  his  father  died,  he  received  from  him,  with 
the  enthusiastic  consent  of  the  army,  the  title  of "  Au- 
gustus." The  struggle  with  the  other  rulers  of  the 
empire  immediately  began,  and  was  carried  on  with 
such  success  on  the  part  of  Constantine  that  five  years 
later  he  was  the  acknowledged  lord  of  the  Western  part 
of  the  empire  and  in  twelve  years'  time  ruler  of  the 
whole  Roman  world.  Justly  was  he  called  "the 
Great."  Again  he  bound  together  the  huge  and  sep- 
arated fragments  of  the  empire.  His  skill  was  able  to 
overcome  all  obstacles.  Abroad  he  was  victorious ;  at 
home  he  made  anarchy  impossible  and  rebellion  un- 
known. Maker  of  his  own  fortunes,  he  rose  to  the 
highest  pinnacle  of  power  and  proved  himself  a  worthy 
successor  of  the  mighty  Diocletian.  And,  wiser  than 
either  Diocletian  or  his  pagan  counsellors,  he  saw  that 


150  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Christianity,  instead  of  being  an  injury,  might  be  made 
to  subserve  his  purposes  and  to  estabhsh  his  throne. 

With  Constantine's  accession,  therefore,  the  darksome 
clouds  which  had  so  long  overspread  the  Church  began 
to  pass  away,  and  persecution  was  brought  to  an  end. 
Whether  his  conversion  arose  from  the  recognition  of 
the  spiritual  truth  of  Christianity  or  of  its  conquests 
and  power  is  a  matter  of  dispute,  but  he  early  freed 
the  Christians  from  all  political  disabilities  and  took 
an  intimate  interest  in  the  affairs  of  the  Church.  He 
was  not  baptized  till  toward  the  close  of  his  life,  and, 
though  he  practically  established  Christianity  as  the 
religion  of  the  state,  he  neither  closely  followed  its 
teachings  nor  sought  to  abolish  paganism.  Perhaps  he 
might  be  called  superstitious  rather  than  religious — a 
moralist  rather  than  a  pietist.  His  manner  was  sarcas- 
tic, yet  he  was  trustful,  faithful  to  his  friends,  enthusias- 
tic and  humorous.  If  deceived,  his  wrath  was  unmeas- 
ured and  his  vengeance  was  summary.  He  had  grave 
faults,  and  some  coarse,  ugly  sins  are  laid  against  him, 
so  that  he  cannot^  be  called  a  saint ;  yet  he  regarded 
himself  as  a  Christian,  and  not  only  befriended  Chris- 
tianity, but  also  honestly  strove  to  reign  as  he  conceived 
a  Christian  emperor  should  reign.  Possibly  impressed 
with  the  vision  of  St.  Paul  on  the  way  to  Damascus  and 
desirous  of  having  his  own  conversion  attributed  to  a  like 
supernatural  origin,  he  late  in  life  affirmed  that  in  the  year 
312  he  beheld  surmounting  and  outshining  the  midday 
sun  a  figure  of  the  cross  with  the  legend,  "  By  this  con- 
quer." Henceforth  he  made  the  cross  the  insignia  both 
of  his  army  and  of  his  state,  and  around  him  he  gath- 
ered the  faithful  support  and  the  unswerving  loyalty  of 


ECHOES  FROM  NIC^A.  151 

the  whole  Christian  Church.  Nor  did  the  inconsistency 
of  an  unbaptized  Augustus  interfering  in  ecclesiastical 
matters  seem  to  affect  any  one.  What  the  pagans 
thought  concerned  him  but  little.  He.  avoided  Rome, 
and  upon  the  shores  of  the  Bosphorus,  at  the  gate  of 
two  continents,  he  built  the  city  which  bears  his  own. 
name,  and  which  was  destined  for  more  than  a  millen- 
nium to  perpetuate  unbroken  the  empire  of  the  East. 
That  which  Constantine  wrought  for  Rome  was  short- 
lived ;  that  which  he  did  for  the  Church  remains  to  this 
day.  The  time  was  soon  to  come  when  the  power  of 
Rome  should  be  broken  beyond  all  remedy.  Goths  and 
Vandals  and  Huns  should  invade  the  lands  of  the  Caesars, 
and  barbarians — such  as  Alaric,  Attila  and  Genseric — 
should  bring  low  the  pride  of  earth's  proudest  realm. 
Men  should  see  Britain  forsaken,  Moesia,  Spain  and 
Gaul  rent  away,  province  after  province  pass  under  the 
dominion  of  the  stranger,  and  of  the  Empire  nothing 
remain  but  a  name  and  a  history.  When  this  came  to 
pass,  over  the  ruins  spread  the  light  of  the  gospel.  The 
heathen  whose  cruel  feet  trode  down  imperial  civilization 
were  brought  under  the  power  of  the  cross.  Among  the 
Syrians,  Hilarion  proclaimed  the  Christ;  among  the 
Saracens,  Moses ;  and  among  the  Goths,  Ulfilas ;  while 
from  Vercelli  and  Lerins  throughout  the  West  went 
upon  the  same  mission  like-minded  heroes.  By  the 
time  of  Constantine  not  only  had  Britain  been  con- 
verted, but  the  blood  of  a  St.  Alban  had  bound  the 
island-realm  to  the  suffering  Church  of  Christ.  Already 
could  Wales  number  in  her  roll  of  saints  her  Kentigern, 
Cadoc,  David  and  Iltud ;  the  ever-glorious  St.  Patrick 
won  Ireland  for  his  Lord ;  and  from  Candida.  Casa  were 


152  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

scattered  the  rays  of  light  over  Scotland  and  the  isles 
of  the  sea.  Nestling  in  the  bosom  of  the  wild  Western 
ocean  was  lona — name  ever  sacred  in  the  history  of  the 
Church  because  of  St.  Columba  and  of  the  noble  men 
who.  went  out  thence.  And  with  this  spread  of  the 
kingdom  of  God  other  work  went  on.  Soon  was  St. 
Benedict  at  Subiaco  and  at  Monte  Cassino  to  lay  the 
foundations  of  that  system  of  monasticism  which  should 
be  a  power  and  a  glory  in  the  Church  for  more  than  a 
millennium ;  soon  at  the  feet  of  the  Christ  should  be 
be  laid  the  genius  and  the  power  of  men  such  as  Greg- 
ory Nazianzen,  Ambrose  of  Milan,  Chrysostom  of  Con- 
stantinople, Augustine  of  Hippo,  Theodore  of  Mopsues- 
tia,  Hilary  of  Poictiers  and  Martin  of  Tours.  With  the 
conversion  of  Constantine  were  built  churches  the  splen- 
dor of  which  may  be  seen  in  the  San  Lorenzo  of  Milan, 
the  St.  Vitalis  at  Ravenna  and  the  St.  Sophia  at  Con- 
stantinople. Within  their  walls  in  waves  of  Gregorian 
majesty  rolled  the  psalm  and  hymn  of  praise,  prayers 
were  offered  in  words  which  had  fallen  from  the  lips 
of  saints  and  of  martyrs,  and  grateful  hearts  and  pious 
minds  did  all  they  could  to  make  the  worship  of  the 
Church  on  earth  something  like  the  splendor  of  that 
which  angels  give  in  heaven. 

But  with  prosperity  came  in  many  evils.  Disputes 
at  once  arose  concerning  the  faith,  and  differences  of 
administration  crept  in,  both  grievous  and  irritating,  and 
oftentimes  leading  to  pronounced  heresy  and  to  cruel 
schism.  The  evil  was,  indeed,  mostly  confined  to  Asia 
Minor,  but  it  necessarily  affected  both  the  peace  and  the 
catholicity  of  the  whole  Church.  For  the  Church  is 
catholic  not  only  because  of  her  extension  through  time 


ECHOES  EROAI  NICMA.  1 53 

and  space,  but  also,  as  St.  Cyril  of  Jerusalem  declares, 
because  she  teaches  universally  and  with  no  omissions 
the  entire  body  of  doctrines  which  men  ought  to  know. 
When  she  ceases  to  teach  the  truth,  the  whole  truth  and 
nothing  but  the  truth,  she  ceases  to  be  catholic,  and 
when  she 'ceases  to  be  catholic,  her  unity  is  broken — 
not  only  in  the  present  time,  but  also  with  the  Church 
of  the  past  ages  and  with  the  Church  in  heaven. 

And  what  was  the  faith  of  the  Church  ?  What  were 
the  doctrines  which  led  proud  emperors  and  haughty 
kings  to  give  of  their  lands  and  of  their  gold  to  the  ex- 
tension of  the  religion  of  the  cross,  which  led  men  of 
transcendent  genius  to  give  their  all  to  that  same  work, 
and  which  led  many  to  leave  father  and  mother  and  all 
that  made  life  happy  that  they  might  win  some  soul, 
perchance  that  they  might  suffer  and  die  ?  Surely  was 
it  naught  but  Christ — He  who  is  both  God  and  man, 
He  who  is  one  with  the  Father  and  the  Holy  Ghost  in 
the  eternal  Trinity,  He  who  is  Lord  of  all.  It  was  the 
denial  of  his  deity  and  eternal  generation  which  made 
it  needful  that  the  Church  should  decide  how  she  under- 
stood the  word  of  God  and  how  she  received  the  mes- 
sage of  the  gospel.  Her  work  was  not  to  make  truth — 
scarcely,  perhaps,  to  define  truth—- but  to  ascertain  what 
since  the  revelation  of  Jesus  Christ  had  throughout  the 
ages  and  throughout  her  bounds  been  held — not  thought, 
but  held — to  be  true.  This  was  the  test  to  be  applied 
to  the  innovations  of  heresy,  the  rule  afterward  formu- 
lated by  St.  Vincent  Lirinensis  :  "  Quod  ubique,  quod 
semper,  quod  ab  omnibus  creditum  est,"  what  has 
always,  everywhere  and  by  all  been  believed.  That 
the   Church   should   embrace   every  possible   shade  of 


154  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

speculation  and  nourish  those  who  indulged  in  such 
was  impossible.  Broad  enough  she  must  be  to  make 
everything  that  is  true  an  integral  part  of  her  belief, 
but  there  are  limits :  everything  that  is  false  is  under 
her  ban. 

Nor  could  she  excuse  those  who  attacked  the  faith 
because  of  their  piety,  sincerity  or  scholarship,  much 
less  because  of  the  advances  they  may  have  made  in  in- 
fluence and  in  territory.  Many  of  the  heretics  were  men 
irreproachable  both  for  character  and  for  ability ;  some 
were  even  princes  among  their  fellows,  eloquent,  learned, 
popular  and  powerful;  while  here  and  there  they  num- 
bered multitudes  of  adherents — not  only  whole  congre- 
gations, but  sometimes,  also,  whole  dioceses.  Sufficient, 
however,  was  it  that  they  had  departed  from  the  faith 
once  delivered  to  the  saints,  and  that  their  inevitable 
tendency  was  to  disruption  and  to  break  the  succession 
both  of  order  and  of  doctrine.  "  The  Church,"  observes 
Cardinal  Newman,  "  is  a  kingdom ;  a  heresy  is  a  family 
rather  than  a  kingdom ;  and  as  a  family  continually 
divides  and  sends  out  branches,  founding  new  houses 
and  propagating  itself  in  colonies,  each  of  them  as 
independent  as  its  original  head,  so  was  it  with  heresy." 
Christendom  became  full  of  sects  and  schools,  each  self- 
confident,  boastful  and  vain,  thinking  more  of  self  than 
of  Christ  and  caring  more  that  opinions  should  be  exalt- 
ed than  that  righteousness  should  triumph.  While  the 
Church  was  constructive,  building  up  the  kingdom  of 
God,  they  were  destructive,  tearing  in  pieces  the  beau- 
tiful fabric,  even  as  a  child  wantonly  tears  the  flower 
no  ingenuity  can  re-form.  Had  this  disintegration  been 
suffered  within  the  Church,  then  ruin  would  have  been 


ECHOES  FROM  NIC^A.  I  55 

certain  and  irretrievable ;  but  the  All-merciful  gave  to 
her  rulers  courage  and  wisdom,  without  respect  of  per- 
sons or  of  numbers,  to  set  forth  the  doctrine  and  to  ad- 
minister the  discipline.  Nor  may  we  forget  that  the 
Holy  Spirit  within  the  Church  is  constantly  bearii^ 
witness,  not  to  new  theories  or  philosophies,  but  to 
Sacred  Scripture,  and  is,  therefore,  guiding  the  Church 
certainly  and  unerringly  into  all  truth. 

The  doctrines  concerning  Christ  were  questioned 
principally  by  Arius,  a  priest  of  Alexandria,  in  Egypt, 
who,  though  censured,  and  finally  excommunicated,  by 
his  bishop,  became  the  cause  of  the  most  famous  of  all 
controversies.  Briefly,  Arius  contended  that,  although 
the  second  Person  of  the  blessed  Trinity  may  be  desig- 
nated "  God"  in  some  sense,  he  is  not  God  in  the  same 
sense  as  is  the  first  Person,  or  in  any  really  true  sense, 
because  he  is  not  eternal,  and  there  was,  therefore,  a 
time  when  he  did  not  exist.  A  certain  divinity  was 
allowed  to  belong  to  him,  but  no  deity.  This  view 
Arius  supported  by  elaborate  arguments,  by  vague 
statements  of  his  opinions,  and  even  by  songs  com- 
posed for  the  sailors  and  the  laborers.  He  thus  ap- 
pealed to  various  classes  of  the  community  and  made 
a  way  for  his  tenets  among  the  lower  as  well  as  among 
the  higher  members  of  society.  He  was  at  this  time 
well  on  in  years,  tall,  pale  and  thin,  his  appearance 
severe  and  gloomy,  but  his  manner  was  soft  and  smooth 
and  calculated  to  persuade  and  attract.  Nor  was  he  left 
alone  in  his  opinions :  multitudes  accepted  his  teaching 
and  adopted  his  errors. 

The  controversy  waxed  so  great  and  the  feeling  grew 
so  bitter  that  in  A.  D.  325  the  emperor  summoned  the 


156  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

bishops  to  meet  in  general  council.  Diocesan  and 
provincial  assemblies  were  already  common,  but  these 
have  no  oecumenical  authority,  nor  may  they  properly 
decide  upon  questions  affecting  the  doctrine  of  the 
Church.  Such  matters  may  be  settled  only  by  a  synod 
of  the  entire  episcopate,  every  bishop  of  Christendom 
being  either  present  or  entitled  to  be  present.  The 
synod  is  restricted  to  bishops  because,  as  St.  Ignatius 
testifies,  the  bishop  is  the  centre  of  unity,  the  fountain- 
head  of  all  authority  and  the  highest  earthly  representa- 
tive of  the  spiritual  power.  To  the  bishops,  individually 
and  collectively,  the  guardianship  of  the  faith  is  solemn- 
ly committed ;  they  are  made  depositaries  of  primitive 
truth  and  inheritors  of  apostolic  tradition,  and  in  them 
abides  the  authority  to  speak  both  for  God  and  for  the 
Church.  Devout  and  learned  men  of  inferior  rank  may, 
indeed,  assist  them  in  their  work,  both  in  the  diocese 
and  in  the  council,  but  the  final  responsibility  rests  upon 
the  hierarchy,  which  has  received  the  sacrament  of  order 
in  all  its  fulness,  and  which  collectively  represents  the 
college  of  the  apostles.  Six  times  only  has  the  episco- 
pate thus  been  gathered  together,  and  none  but  these 
six  assemblies  does  the  Church  hold  to  be  general 
councils. 

To  Nicaea,  the  chief  city  of  Bithynia,  on  the  eastern 
shore  of  the  lake  Ascania  and  a  little  more  than  forty 
miles  from  Constantinople,  in  the  summer  of  325,  three 
hundred  prelates,  mostly  from  dioceses  within  the  east- 
ern part  of  the  empire,  went  their  way.  One  bishop 
came  from  Scythia,  another  from  Persia,  and  from  the 
West  came  Hosius  of  Cordova  and  Caecilian  of  Car- 
thage.    Two  priests,  Vito  and  Vincent,  represented  the 


ECHOES  FROM  NICyEA.  1 5/ 

aged  Sylvester,  bishop  of  Rome.  Alexander  of  Alex- 
andria was  accompanied  by  the  saintly  and  learned 
Athanasius,  then  only  a  deacon,  but  already  recog- 
nized as  one  of  the  ablest  and  most  illustrious  defend- 
ers of  the  faith.  Few  could  doubt  that  he  would  one 
day  sit  in  *'  the  evangelical  throne."  So  great  was  his 
renown,  and  so  marked  were  his  abilities,  that  he  was 
permitted  to  address  the  assembled  Fathers  and  to  take 
part  in  the  discussions.  Readier,  perhaps,  than  any 
was  he  to  grasp  the  fulness  of  the  question.  By  an 
intuitive  perception  he  beheld  the  Redeemer  in  his 
totality,  and  he  fought,  not  from  loyalty  to  his  supe- 
rior or  from  pure  polemical  partisanship  or  from  mere 
ecclesiastical  conservatism,  but  from  a  profound  con- 
sciousness of  truth.  Small  in  stature,  he  was  neverthe- 
less heroic  in  soul ;  his  face  was  radiant  with  intelligence 
as  "  the  face  of  an  angel,"  and  his  great  learning  and 
his  wonderful  eloquence  excited  alike  the  admiration  of 
his  friends  and  the  hostility  of  his  opponents.  Among 
other  remarkable  men  present  were  Eusebius  of  Caesarea 
and  his  namesake  of  Nicomedia,  Eustathius  of  Antioch, 
Macarius  of  Jerusalem,  Marcellus  of  Ancyra,  Leontius 
of  the  Cappadocian  Caesarea  and  Spyridon  of  Cyprus. 
Many  of  the  inferior  clergy,  and  even  some  heathen 
philosophers,  were  attracted  to  the  place  of  assembly. 
With  the  latter  were  held  conferences  and  disputes,  and 
a  few  are  said  to  have  been  converted. 

In  the  council  and  in  the  city  the  most  violent  excite- 
ment prevailed.  While  bishops  discussed  with  vehe- 
mence the  questions  brought  before  them,  elsewhere 
butchers  and  bakers  debated  the  same  subjects  with 
scarcely  less  interest  and  virulence.     So  high  was  the 


158  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

feeling  that  when  the  prelates  presented  to  Constantine 
memorials  containing  their  mutual  complaints  and  recrim- 
inations the  emperor  exhorted  them  to  unity  and  burnt 
the  documents  without  opening  them — "  lest,"  said  he, 
*'  the  contentions  of  the  priests  should  become  known 
to  any  one."  The  scenes  of  unseemly  strife  which 
appeared  in  this  and  similar  councils  indicate  not  only 
the  supernaturalness  of  Christianity,  in  that  out  of  such 
confusion  truth  escaped  with  its  life,  but  also  the  unfin- 
ished organization  of  the  Church.  The  fact  was  indeed 
evident  that  if  the  Church  was  to  live  and  do  her  work 
in  the  world — for  a  time,  at  least,  and  until  experience 
had  brought  about  some  degree  of  definiteness — differ- 
ing bishops  must  be  brought  into  subjection  to  a 
supreme  lord  and  contending  dioceses  made  part  of  a 
strong  and  absolute  system.  The  development  of  the 
papacy  was  the  remedy  for  the  Western  Church ;  the 
Eastern  so  readily  passed  into  the  fossil  state  that 
nothing  human  could  help  it. 

But,  these  imperfections  notwithstanding,  the  council 
did  eood  work,  and  work  that  was  to  last  for  all  time. 
The  angry  .words  were  but  the  foam  cast  up  by  the 
troubled  tide  of  intense  earnestness;  they  marred  the 
beauty  of  the  assembled  Church,  but  they  did  not 
affect  its  affirmations  of  truth.  We  need  not  trace  out 
in  detail  the  process  by  which  the  council  reached  its 
decision.  It  endeavored  to  ascertain  what  was  the  reve- 
lation of  Holy  Scripture,  and  what  had  been,  since  the 
days  of  the  apostles,  the  teaching  of  the  Church.  The 
prelates  were  struck  with  horror  and  indignation  at  the 
assault  made  upon  the  faith,  and  with  almost  one  voice 
declared  that  the  Son  was  of  the  same  substance  with 


ECHOES  FROM  NICALA.  I  59 

the  Father — not  of  a  similar,  but  of  the  same,  actual 
and  numerical  substance.  A  creed  was  then  formulated 
— that  Creed  which  alone  is  cecumenical,  and  which  the 
Greek  Church  reverences  by  embroidering  it  upon  the 
robes  of  her  bishops,  and  the  Anglican  Church  by  pla- 
cing it  immediately  after  the  Gospel  in  the  Liturgy.  In 
this  symbol  the  holy  catholic  Church  expresses  its  belief 
in  the  deity  of  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and,  with  that  and 
the  personality  and  deity  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  necessarily 
the  doctrine  of  the  blessed  Trinity.  This  faith  rests  not 
upon  the  Church's  authority,  but  upon  the  infallible 
word  of  God.  It  is  the  truth  of  Scripture,  and  in 
Scripture  alone  is  the  catholic  faith  which  to  the  sav- 
ing of  the  soul  must  be  kept  whole  and  undcfiled.  In 
short,  the  Bible  is  God's  message  to  the  Church,  and 
the  Creed  is  the  Church's  answer  to  God.     And  now 

"  the  faith  of  the  Trinity  lies, 
Shrined  for  ever  and  ever,  in  those  grand  old  words  and  wise, 
A  gem  in  a  beautiful  setting.     Still  at  matin-time 
The  service  of  holy  communion  rings  the  ancient  chime ; 
Wherever,  in  marvellous  minster  or  village  churches  small, 
Men  to  the  Man  that  is  God  out  of  their  misery  call, 
Swelled  by  the  rapture  of  choirs  or  borne  on  the  poor  man's  word, 
Still  the  glorious  Nicene  Confession  unaltered  is  heard, 
Most  like  the  song  that  the  angels  are  singing  around  the  throne. 

With  their  *  Holy  !  Holy  !  Holy  !'  to  the  great  Three  in  One." 

» 

The  anathemas  which  the  council  attached  to  the 
Creed  have  been  removed,  but  that  does  not  imply 
that  the  Creed  is  now  of  less  importance  and  is  not 
still  binding  on  the  consciences  of  Christians.  ''  What 
God,"  says  St.  Athanasius,  "has  spoken  through  the 
Council  of  Nicaea  remains  for  ever;"  and  this,  we  may 


l6o  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

add,  of  necessity.  For  the  Creed  states  facts  which  if 
true  at  one  time  are  true  throughout  all  time.  Those 
facts  are  the  guiding-posts  of  faith ;  by  them  we  find 
our  way  across  the  wilderness  of  thought  to  the  haven 
of  rest.  If  beyond  our  comprehension,  they  are  within 
our  observation ;  for,  be  it  remembered,  "  the  catholic 
faith  is  this " — not  that  we  apprehend,  perceive  or 
understand,  but  **  that  we  ivorship,  one  God  in  trinity, 
and  trinity  in  unity." 

Besides  formulating  the  Creed,  the  council  enacted 
twenty  canons  affecting  the  discipline  of  the  Church. 
These  are  of  varying  value;  some  have  been  modified 
and  some  abrogated  altogether.  The  principle  underly- 
ing the  whole  code  is  thus  expressed  :  "  Let  the  ancient 
customs  prevail."  Hasty  or  premature  baptism  was 
forbidden ;  a  convert  from  heathenism,  no  matter  how 
desirable  an  addition  he  might  be  to  the  Church,  was 
to  pass  through  a  prolonged  and  thorough  course  of 
preparation  before  he  was  to  receive  that  sacrament, 
much  less  before  he  was  admitted  to  holy  orders.  Bap- 
tism could  not  be  repeated,  but  the  council  held  that  a 
heretic  who  administered  baptism  with  the  right  form, 
but  not  with  the  right  faith,  did  not  confer  a  valid  bap- 
tism. Every  province  of  the  Church  was  ordered  to 
hold  two  synods  in  each  year — one  before  Lent,  and  the 
other  about  the  time  of  late  autumn.  To  the  consecra- 
tion of  a  bishop  the  metropolitan  and  the  bishops  of  the 
province  should  consent,  and  the  rite  should  be  per- 
formed by  at  least  three  bishops,  acting  not  as  indi- 
viduals, but  as  representatives  of  the  entire  episcopate. 
Bishops  were  not  to  be  translated,  nor  were  any  of  the 
clergy  to  remove  themselves  from  the  church  to  which 


ECHOES  FROM  NIC^A.  l6l 

they  belonged — an  indication  that  with  greater  wealth  and 
wider  power  had  come  in  among  the  clergy  a  restless- 
ness and  an  ambition  associated  with  worldly  motives 
and  tending  to  scandalous  discord.  The  evil,  however, 
was  not  stayed :  a  later  council — that  of  Sardica — re- 
marked, with  a  touch  of  sarcasm,  that  no  bishop  had  yet 
been  found  to  aim  at  being  transferred  from  a  greater 
city  to  a  lesser.  A  priest  who  wandered  from  his  own 
diocese  to  seek  a  better  charge  elsewhere  was  to  be  de- 
barred from  officiating  until  he  had  gone  back  to  his 
original  work  and  by  repentance  had  come  to  a  better 
mind.  The  clergy  were  also  forbidden  to  lend  their 
money  upon  usury,  and  any  priest  found  guilty  of  base 
device  or  of  receiving  inordinate  gain  was  to  have  his 
name  struck  off  the  canon.  The  presumption  of  dea- 
cons was  severely  reproved.  They  were  charged  no 
more  to  infringe  upon  the  duties  and  the  dignities  of 
the  presbyters,  either  in  administering  both  elements  in 
holy  communion,  or  in  receiving  the  blessed  sacrament 
before  their  superiors,  or  in  sitting  within  that  part  of 
the  sanctuary  which  was  appropriated  to  the  bishops  and 
the  priests.  The  pride  of  deacons,  however,  was  hard  to 
subdue :  Jerome  says  he  saw  a  deacon  giving  his  bless- 
ing to  presbyters,  and  the  Laodicene  Council  forbade  a 
deacon  to  sit  down  where  a  priest  was  present,  either  in 
the  church  or  out  of  it,  unless  bidden  by  him  to  do  so. 
Decisions  were  also  made  as  to  the  mode  of  filling  up 
vacant  sees,  the  status  of  persons  excommunicate,  the 
home-life  of  the  clergy,  the  physical  qualifications  for 
ordination  and  the  reconciliation  of  those  who  had  con- 
cealed or  abjured  their  faith  to  escape  persecution.  It 
was  ordered  that  prayer  on  Sundays  and  during  the  fifty 
11 


1 62  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

days  of  Easter  should  be  made  standing,  and  it  is  im- 
plied that  the  custom  of  standing  at  the  reception  of  the 
holy  communion  should  continue;  which  custom  still 
abides  in  the  Greek  Church  and  is  observed  by  the  cel- 
ebrant in  the  Latin  Church.  It  was  also  understood 
that  the  festival  of  the  resurrection  of  our  Lord  should 
always  be  commemorated  upon  the  first  day  of  the  week, 
and  never  on  the  fourteenth  day  of  the  month  Nisan. 
Throughout  these  enactments  a  strong  desire  is  mani- 
fested to  drive  away  from  the  Church  errors  of  living 
and  to  bring  about  a  closer  uniformity  of  usage.  They 
show  that  the  Church  had  now  to  struggle  against  evils 
more  insidious  and  more  perilous  than  those  of  the  age 
of  persecution ;  they  further  show  that  the  Church  was 
aware  of  her  danger,  and  was  honestly  desirous  to 
avert  it.   • 

The  decrees  of  the  council  were  signed  by  all  save  two 
bishops,  and,  being  assented  to  by  the  emperor,  were  im- 
mediately enforced.  These  bishops,  the  one  of  Ptolemais 
and  the  other  of  Marmarica,  with  Arius,  were  sentenced 
by  Constantine  to  banishment.  He  denounced  severe 
penalties  against  the  party;  he  even  condescended  to 
pun  upon  the  name  of  Arius  and  to  ridicule  his  personal 
appearance,  and  he  made  it  a  capital  offence  to  possess 
his  writings.  Three  months  later  he  deprived  two  more 
bishops  who  were  supposed  to  sympathize  with  Arius. 
But  the  errors  he  condemned  were  not  killed ;  for  years, 
in  some  form  or  other,  the  advocates  of  Arianism  sought 
its  propagation.  The  emperor  changed  his  mind,  and, 
as  even  trees  bend  according  to  the  wind,  his  influence 
affected  many  prelates.  With  the  turn  of  the  tide  whole 
provinces  went  over  to  heresy.     Everywhere  the  truth 


ECHOES  FROM  NIC  ALA.  1 63 

was  imperilled;  in  many  places,  loudly  denied.  In 
those  days  of  apostasy  the  attempts  to  assemble  another 
council  of  the  Church  to  reverse  the  decisions  of  Nicaea 
were  futile ;  nor  has  any  proof  ever  yet  been  given  of 
the  fallibility  or  the  contradiction  of  an  oecumenical  gath- 
ering of  the  ecclesiastical  princes.  But  the  emperor,  in 
336,  commanded  Alexander,  bishop  of  Constantinople 
and  a  firm  adherent  of  the  Nicene  faith,  to  receive  Arius 
back  again  into  the  full  communion  of  the  Church.  The 
bishop  remonstrated,  but  the  emperor  insisted,  and  or- 
dered a  solemn  procession  to  be  made  from  the  palace  to 
the  church  of  the  Apostles.  The  triumph  of  Arianism 
seemed  almost  complete,  and  the  day  next  to  the  Sun- 
day appointed  for  this  purpose  the  bishop  spent  in  prayer 
that  by  the  mercy  of  God  before  the  hour  of  trial  came 
either  he  or  Arius  might  be  removed  from  this  life.  The 
prayer  was  answered.  Toward  the  evening,  as  Arius 
and  some  of  his  friends  were  walking  through  the  streets 
of  the  city,  gayly  and  lightly  talking  of  the  approaching 
ceremonies,  the  heresiarch  was  taken  with  a  sudden  pain. 
In  a  few  minutes  he  was  dead.  His  friends  said  he  was 
poisoned,  and  his  opponents  that  God  had  miraculously 
interposed ;  probably  neither  supposition  was  right,  for 
he  was  eighty  years  of  age  and  had  been  afflicted  with 
a  disease  of  long  standing.  Most  likely  the  extreme  ex- 
citement, the  joy  of  a  life's  triumph,  precipitated  the  end. 
However,  the  striking  and  awful  coincidence  made  a 
strong  impression  upon  the  world ;  nor  did  men  forget 
that  he  who  had  denied  the  deity  of  Christ  died  out  of 
the  communion  of  the  Church. 

The  year  after  the  council,  Athanasius,  the  defender 
of  the  faith,  was  made  bishop  of  Alexandria,  and  within 


164  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

a  little  while  began  those  troubles  of  which  Hooker  says 
that  "  the  Arians  never  suffered  Athanasius,  till  the  last 
hour  of  his  life  in  this  world,  to  enjoy  the  comfort  of  a 
peaceable  day/'  He  sat  in  the  throne  of  St.  Mark  from 
the  age  of  thirty  to  that  seventy-six.  To  quote  again  the 
author  just  mentioned,  "this  was  the  plain  condition  of 
those  times :  the  whole  world  against  Athanasius,  and 
Athanasius  against  it;  half  a  hundred  years  spent  in 
doubtful  trial  which  of  the  two  in  the  end  would  pre- 
vail, the  side  which  had  all,  or  else  the  part  which  had 
no  friend  but  God  and  death — the  one  a  defender  of 
his  innocency,  the  other  a  finisher  of  all  his  troubles." 
Nothing  was  left  undone  by  his  adversaries  to  bring 
him  to  ruin ;  he  was  accused  of  magical  arts,  of  usurp- 
ing political  power,  of  committing  violence  and  sacri- 
lege, of  murder,  of  resisting  the  secular  authority,  and 
of  other  crimes  ;  *'  the  least  whereof,"  observes  Hooker, 
"  being  just,  had  bereaved  him  of  estimation  and  credit 
with  men  while  the  world  standeth."  Four  times  he 
was  driven  into  exile — once  even  to  Treves,  in  the  far 
West.  On  one  occasion  there  was  an  anticipation  of 
the  famous  scene  in  Canterbury — fortunately,  without 
its  terrible  tragedy.  During  a  midnight  service  in 
February,  356,  the  church  in  which  were  assembled 
the  archbishop  and  a  large  congregation  was  surround- 
ed by  a  body  of  police  and  soldiers  under  the  leadership 
of  an  officer  of  state.  The  intention  was  to  drive  Athan- 
asius out  of  the  city — possibly,  to  put  a  period  to  his 
life.  When  the  archbishop  heard  the  clamor  of  arms 
and  the  noise  of  the  rabble,  to  use  his  own  words,  "  I 
sat  down  on  my  throne  and  desired  the  deacon  to  read 
the  psalm,  and  the  people  to  respond  *  For  His  mercy 


ECHOES  FROM  NIC^A.  1 65 

endureth  for  ever,'  and  then  all  to  depart  home."  The 
psalm  recited  was  the  one  hundred  and  thirty-sixth, 
beginning,  "  O  give  thanks  unto  the  Lord ;  for  he  is 
gracious ;"  and  hardly  was  it  finished  when  the  armed 
mob  rushed  in.  In  an  instant  the  peace  of  the  sanctu- 
ary was  broken.  The  soldiers  shouted  fiercely,  clashed 
their  weapons,  discharged  their  arrows  and  brandished 
their  swords  in  the  light  of  the  church  lamps.  Many 
of  the  people  were  trampled  down;  and  some  were  mor- 
tally wounded.  Others  cried  to  the  archbishop  to  es- 
cape ;  but,  again  using  his  own  words,  **  I  said  I  would 
not  do  so  until  they  had  all  got  away  safe.  So  I  stood 
up  and  called  for  prayer,  and  desired  all  to  go  out  before 
me."  Afterward  he  was  carried  away  by  his  clergy,  and 
succeeded  in  passing  out  of  the  peril  without  injury. 
Throughout  all  his  troubles  his  own  people  and  the 
hundred  bishops  who  owned  allegiance  to  the  see  of 
Alexandria  stood  loyal  to  him,  and  to  his  abilities,  his 
manly  and  direct  eloquence,  his  unbending  steadiness 
of  purpose,  his  tact  in  dealing  with  men,  his  activity, 
breadth  of  mind  and  foresight,  under  the  divine  Provi- 
dence is  due  the  preservation  of  the  Church  both  from 
heresy  and  from  a  creedless  system,  either  of  which  prob- 
ably would  have  led  to  the  abandonment  of  Christianity. 
His  characteristic  enthusiasm  was  illustrated  in  his  flight 
to  the  desert  shortly  before  the  Easter  of  363.  He  was  met 
on  his  way  by  numbers  of  his  adherents.  At  one  place, 
seeing  the  banks  of  the  Nile  thronged  by  bishops,  clergy 
and  monks,  he  exclaimed,  in  the  words  of  Isaiah,  "  Who 
are  these  that  fly  as  a  cloud,  and  as  the  doves  to  theit 
cotes  ?"  In  the  dark  night  he  landed,  and,  mounting  on 
an  ass  led  by  Theodore,  the  abbot  and  priest  of  Tabenne, 


1 66  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

he  pursued  his  way  into  the  wilderness  amid  a  vast  body 
of  monks  bearing  lanterns  and  torches  and  chanting 
psalms.  The  weirdness  of  the  scene  and  the  devotion 
of  these  adherents  of  the  Nicene  faith  moved  him  deep- 
ly. "  It  is  not  we  that  are  Fathers,"  he  cried  :  "  it  is  these 
men  devoted  to  humility  and  obedience."  He  tarried 
among  them  for  some  time.  When  the  day  came  for 
him  to  return  to  the  city  from  which  he  had  been  driven, 
Theodore  said,  "  Remember  us  in  your  prayers."  His 
answer  was  simple  and  eloquent :  "  If  I  forget  thee,  O 
Jerusalem !" 

It  was  on  Thursday,  May  2,  373,  that  Athanasius 
the  immortal,  having  waxed  old  in  his  work,  tranquilly 
passed  into  his  rest.  By  his  struggles  and  endurance 
he  had  won  many  a  crown ;  his  life  had  been  a  con- 
tinual fnartyrdom ;  he  had  spent  his  days  continually 
^'  planting  trees  under  which  men  of  a  later  age  might 
sit ;"  and  it  is  no  extravagance  which  declares  him  the 
greatest  among  the  saints  and  divines  of  the  post-apos- 
tolic ages.  The  time  was  nigh  at  hand  which  should 
witness  the  complete  triumph  of  those  principles  for 
which  he  had  contended.  The  work  of  Diocletian  and 
Constantine  had  ended  in  confusion,  the  apostate  Julian 
had  acknowledged  that  the  Galilean  had  conquered,  and 
the  decline  and  decay  of  Rome  went  on  unchecked,  but 
against  the  blue  sky  and  the  clouds  of  heaven,  on 
mountain-slope,  in  forest-wild,  by  river-bank  and  amid 
busy  marts,  from  Nicomedia  in  the  far  East  to  the  rock- 
bound  coasts  gray  with  Atlantic  storms,  stood  the  cross 
of  Jesus  reminding  men  of  the  God-Man  by  whose 
atoning  blood  the  human  race  was  saved,  and  by  whose 
mercy  the  kingdom  was  opened  to  all  believers. 


ECHOES  FROM  NIC^A.  1 6/ 

In  this  century  the  Church  passed  through  one  of  the 
most  significant  eras  in  her  history.  Now  began  a  close 
alHance  of  the  Church  and  the  State,  and,  while  the 
spiritual  power  tempered  and  modified  the  secular,  the 
secular  gave  its  support  and  imparted  of  its  wealth  and 
dignity  to  the  spiritual.  The  clergy  were  freed  from 
many  liabilities  and  invested  with  many  privileges. 
The  bishops  became  princes  of  the  empire  and  their 
patriarchs  assumed  a  state  little  inferior  to  that  of  the 
imperial  court.  It  is  not  surprising,  therefore,  that  many 
sought  the  sacred  ministry  from  unworthy  motives,  and 
that  the  incubus  of  ungodly  prelates  and  worldly  priests, 
with  the  splendor  of  their  dress  and  equipage  and  the 
sumptuousness  of  their  surroundings,  weighed  down  the 
Church  and  marred  the  purity,  earnestness  and  simpli- 
city of  her  spiritual  life.  And  yet  this  prosperity  had 
another  and  a  nobler  effect :  it  produced  men  who  were 
as  faithful  in  resisting  the  seductions  of  wealth  and  pow- 
er as  the  earlier  confessors  had  been  in  refusing  to  bend 
before  the  pagan  persecutor.  Mighty  champions  of  the 
faith  came  to  the  front  besides  those  already  mentioned 
— heroes  such  as  Basil  of  Caesarea,  Gregory  of  Nyssa, 
Didymus  of  Alexandria,  John  Chrysostom,  Epiphanius 
of  Cyprus,  Lactantius  and  St.  Jerome.  Lands  and  titles 
were  given,  churches  built,  minor  orders  in  the  ministry 
established  and  benevolent  guilds  organized.  In  Con- 
stantinople were  banded  the  Copiatae  or  Fossarii,  for  the 
purpose  of  burying  the  dead ;  in  Alexandria,  the  Para- 
bolani  or  Venturers,  for  the  purpose  of  visiting  the  sick. 
Divine  service  now  became  more  elaborate  and  the  acces- 
sories of  worship  more  splendid.  The  clergy  still  mar- 
ried, though  the  tendency  to  celibacy  was  decided.    The 


1 68  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

canon  of  Scripture  was  also  determined — what  writings 
were  to  be  accepted  as  of  inspired  authority.  Beautiful- 
ly says  St.  Chrysostom,  "  Christianity  struck  its  roots  in 
the  books  of  the  Old  Testament ;  it  blossomed  in  the 
Gospels  of  the  New."  Deep  was  the  reverence  and 
unswerving  the  loyalty  to  the  word  of  God.  Nor 
need  it  be  mentioned  that  as  yet  the  bishop  of  Rome 
made  no  pretensions  to  that  universal  lordship  over  the 
Church  which  h;e  afterward  assumed.  Four  patriarch- 
ates, Rome,  Constantinople,  Alexandria  and  Antioch, 
were  recognized,  each  independent  within  itself  and 
supreme  within  its  own  jurisdiction. 

The  period  furnishes  us  with  an  illustration  of  the 
growth  of  a  spirit  which  in  time  led  to  much  error  of 
doctrine,  and  even  to  viciousness  of  life.  About  the 
year  327  the  empress  Helena,  mother  of  Constantine, 
and  now  a  Christian,  as  an  act  of  penitence  and  sorrow 
for  the  murder  of  her  grandson  Crispus  and  her  daugh- 
ter-in-law Festa,  which  Constantine  in  a  fit  of  jealousy 
had  ordered,  determined  to  go  on  a  pilgrimage  to  the 
Holy  Land.  Though  nearly  eighty  years  of  age,  she 
had  the  strength  and  spirit  of  middle  life  and  the  fulness 
of  that  reverent  curiosity,  common  enough  even  now,  for 
seeing  remarkable  places  and  sacred  scenes.  She  made 
the  journey  to  Palestine  without  let  or  hindrance.  In 
Jerusalem  she  visited  spots  connected  with  the  history 
of  Christ  and  built  several  churches  to  his  honor,  but 
on  her  way  home  she  died,  and  her  body  was  received 
at  Constantinople  with  great  pomp.  Out  of  this  appar- 
ently simple  visit  to  the  Holy  City  was  in  later  years  creat- 
ed one  of  the  most  singular  of  ecclesiastical  legends. 

The  love  of  the  human  heart  for  relics  is  shown  in  the 


ECHOES  FROM  NICE  A.  J  69 

tenderness  with  which  the  mother  treasures  the  toys  and 
the  garments  of  her  lost  child,  and  in  the  respect  which 
all  men  pay  to  things  associated  with  a  dear  friend  who 
has  passed  into  the  Unseen.  When  religion  is  the  object 
of  affection,  then  the  reverence  naturally  turns  to  the  per- 
sons and  the  places  associated  with  its  history,  and  soon 
after  this  time  rumors  began  to  run  abroad  that  the  cross 
on  which  the  Saviour  died  had  been  discovered.  St. 
Cyril  of  Jerusalem,  whose  catechetical  lectures  were 
delivered  in  346 — he  himself  affirms,  upon  the  very  spot 
where  Christ  was  crucified — alludes  to  this  fact;  St. 
Chrysostom,  in  387,  speaks  of  the  anxiety  felt  by  many 
to  procure  a  piece  of  the  sacred  wood ;  and,  seven  years 
later,  Sulpicius  Severus  declares  that  on  the  mount  of 
the  Ascension  the  footsteps  of  Christ  had  been  dis- 
cerned, and  reiterates  that  the  three  crosses  of  Calvary 
had  been  recovered.  It  did  not  take  much  time  or  much 
ingenuity  to  associate  the  empress  Helena  with  this  in- 
vention. Seventy  years  after  her  pilgrimage  she  was 
stated  to  have  gone  to  the  Holy  City  for  the  express 
purpose  of  finding  the  cross,  and  details,  which  grew 
with  the  ages,  were  given  of  the  progress  and  success 
of  her  search.  Legends  are  like  lies  :  not  only  do  they 
increase  and  multiply,  but  from  ofttimes  telling  they 
actually  come  to  be  believed  as  truth.  This  story  of 
the  cross,  repeated  from  one  generation  to  another  and 
supported  by  bits  of  wood  carefully  enclosed  in  caskets 
of  gold  adorned  with  priceless  gems,  was  accepted  for 
centuries  not  merely  by  the  foolish  and  ignorant,  but 
also  by  the  holy  and  prudent. 

Passing  over  the    details   of   the  process,  the   story 
finally  reached  the  following  elaborate  and  astonishing 


I/O  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

development :  Adam,  when  toiling  in  the  wilderness, 
was  seized  with  a  severe  headache,  and  to  alleviate  his 
sufferings  he  sent  Seth  to  Paradise  for  some  oil  of  mercy. 
Instead  of  this,  the  archangel  Michael  gave  to  Seth  three 
seeds  from  the  tree  of  life  which  grew  in  the  midst  of 
the  garden  of  Eden ;  and  when  Adam  died,  Seth  put 
these  three  seeds  under  his  tongue.  From  the  grave, 
fed  and  nourished  by  the  body  of  Adam,  the  seeds 
sprang  up  into  three  good-sized  saplings,  and  these 
saplings  became  the  rods  which  Moses  ever  had  about 
his  bed,  and  with  which  he  divided  the  Red  Sea,  made 
water  to  flow  from  the  rock  and  sweetened  the  bitter 
wells  of  Marah.  He  afterward  planted  them  in  the  land 
of  Moab,  where  they  continued  to  grow  till  an  angel 
appeared  in  a  dream  to  David  and  bade  him  fetch  them 
to  Jerusalem.  On  the  way  the  rods  healed  the  sick, 
cleansed  a  leper  and  turned  three  black  men  white. 
Nor  was  this  all  :  David  left  them  at  night  in  the  court- 
yard of  his  palace,  and  in  the  morning  he  found  that 
they  had  taken  root  and  become  one  tree.  Around 
that  tree  he  built  a  wall,  and  under  its  shadow  he  praised 
God  and  composed  his  psalms.  When  the  temple  was 
being  built,  Solomon  had  it  cut  down,  and  the  artificers 
fashioned  it  into  a  plank ;  but  the  plank  would  nowhere 
fit  into  the  building,  and  it  was  therefore  laid  aside. 
Some  time  after,  a  devout  woman  happening  to  sit  on 
the  plank,  her  clothes  caught  fire,  and  she  made  a 
prophecy ;  but  she  was  scourged  to  death,  and  Solomon 
made  a  foot-bridge  of  the  plank.  When  the  queen  of 
Sheba  visited  the  king,  she  preferred  wading  through 
the  brook  to  walking  over  the  holy  wood,  and  as  a  con- 
sequence of  her  discernment   of   its   nature  the   plank 


ECHOES  FROM  NIC/EA.  I71 

was  taken  up,  covered  with  gold  and  placed  in  the  tem- 
ple. At  the  desecration  of  the  temple  the  Jews  buried 
the  plank  under  what  was  afterward  the  Pool  of  Beth- 
esda,  hence  the  healing  virtues  of  that  pool ;  and 
when  Christ  was  condemned  to  death,  the  plank  was 
found  floating  on  the  water.  The  high  priest  had  it 
made  into  a  cross,  on  which  the  Saviour  died;  and 
thus,  says  the  Legenda  Aiirea  Sanctorum,  whence  come 
these  particulars,  "  the  crosse  by  which  we  been  saved 
came  of  the  tree  by  whiche  we  were  dampned."  The 
disciples  immediately  adored  it,  seeing  that  by  contact 
with  it  the  sick  were  healed  and  devils  cast  out;  but 
the  Jews,  by  way  of  annoyance,  buried  both  it  and 
those  on  which  the  thieves  were  crucified,  so  that  they 
were  lost  sight  of  till  St.  Helena  visited  Jerusalem.  She 
made  inquiry  of  the  Jews  concerning  the  cross,  but  the 
only  man  who  knew  anything — one  Judas — refused  to 
divulge  the  secret ;  whereupon  she  put  him  in  a  dry  pit, 
without  food  or  water,  for  seven  days.  On  his  release 
the  earth  was  moved  and  a  fume  of  great  sweetness  was 
felt ;  so  that  Judas  was  converted,  and  diligently  set  to 
work  to  discover  the  crosses.  After  he  had  digged  some 
twenty  paces  deep  under  the  foundations  of  a  ruined  tem- 
ple he  came  to  the  three  crosses,  each  in  a  state  of  good 
preservation ;  but  which  was  the  cross  of  our  Lord  he 
knew  not.  This,  however,  was  soon  determined.  A 
funeral  was  passing  by ;  the  corpse  was  detained,  and  to 
it  were  applied  the  crosses.  By  two  of  them  no  effect 
was  made,  but  at  the  touch  of  the  third  the  dead  arose. 
At  this  the  devil  was  furious,  Judas  was  baptized  and 
Helena  rejoiced.  The  empress  divided  the  cross;  one 
part  she  left  at  Jerusalem,  and  the  rest  she  sent  to  Con- 


172  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

stantinople.  And  the  sacred  wood,  as  the  chroniclers 
tell  us,  being  in  itself  miraculous,  like  the  loaves  and 
fishes  in  the  wilderness,  notwithstanding  its  constant 
distribution,  did  not  diminish.  Soon  it  was  scattered 
over  all  the  earth,  and  in  every  place  it  wrought  won- 
ders. The  nails  thereof  were  set  in  the  emperor's  armor; 
hence  his  great  success  in  battle.  Once,  when  being 
carried  across  the  sea,  a  storm  arose,  insomuch  that 
death  seemed  imminent;  but  the  moment  one  of  the 
nails  was  cast  in  the  foaming  waters  the  winds  and 
waves  were  stilled,  and  the  ship  was  saved.  Nor  did 
men  fail  to  point  out  that  the  cross  was  made  of  the 
wood  of  the  aspen  tree,  whose  leaves  still  tremble  at 
the  awful  use  the  tree  was  put  to.  Some  said  that  the 
cross  had  been  erected  over  the  tomb  of  the  first  man, 
and  that  when  the  sacred  blood  was  spilt  it  fell  upon  the 
skull  of  Adam,  and  also  split  the  rock  of  Calvary.  A 
quantity  of  the  gore  was  caught  in  the  Holy  Graal  by 
Joseph  of  Arimathea. 

Curious  as  this  legend  is,  the  heaps  of  fables  which 
cluster  around  the  scattered  bits  of  the  cross  are  more 
curious  still,  but  into  that  wide  sea  of  ingenuity  and 
credulity  we  may  not  enter.  It  need  not  be  supposed 
that  everybody  believed  such  stories ;  if  some  accepted 
them  as  undeniable  verities,  others  regarded  them  as 
pleasant  imaginations.  We  smile  at  the  simplicity  and 
brush  the  legendary  dust  aside,  and  yet  we  may  weigh 
well  two  considerations.  First,  the  moral  which  under- 
lies this  story  of  the  cross.  The  death  of  Jesus  Christ 
is  the  highest  and  most  lustrous  manifestation  of  the 
love  of  God ;  that  love  is  eternal,  and,  though  lost  sight 
of  for  the  moment,  is  again  and  again  recovered.     It 


ECHOES  FROM  NIC^A.  1 73 

passes  from  Eden  through  the  ages  to  Calvary,  and 
from  Calvary  throughout  the  whole  world.  It  is  undi- 
minishable  and  everywhere  works  marvellous  wonders. 
And  secondly,  it  was  from  the  very  faith  in  Jesus  Christ 
that  such  reverence  sprang  for  things  associated  with 
him.  Had  men  not  loved  him,  they  had  no  more  cared 
to  invent  and  to  accept  stories  concerning  him  than  have 
we  concerning  Confucius.     They  erred — true  : 

"  To  err  is  human,  to  forgive  divine," 

and  we  may  trust  that  He  to  whom  every  heart  is 
known  has  judged  them  more  righteously  than  it  is 
possible  for  us  to  do. 


CHAPTER  VI. 

St.  Jlflartin  ot  JTours;. 

Among  those  who  have  had  the  name  of  Martin  were 
five  popes,  the  first  of  whom  was  canonized  and  the  last 
of  whom  not  only  concluded  the  great  papal  schism,  but 
also  vigorously  opposed  the  English  act  of  praemunire — 
the  '*  execrable  statute,"  as  he  called  it.  In  the  four- 
teenth century  a  prince  of  Sicily  and  his  father  the 
king  of  Arragon,  and  in  the  sixth  century  a  bishop  of 
Portugal — he  of  Braga — were  likewise  so  named.  But 
the  Alpha-Martinorum,  the  one  after  whom  these  and 
others  were  called,  is  he  of  Tours — soldier,  monk, 
bishop  and  saint.  He  has  had  a  popularity  throughout 
the  ages.  To  him  in  all  parts  of  Christendom  have 
churches  been  dedicated;  legend  has  been  lyiusually 
busy  and  daring  with  him ;  and  though  he  contributed 
nothing  to  the  theological  knowledge  of  the  Church, 
yet  he  is  a  good  representative  of  the  fourth  century. 
He  was  born  about  the  year  316  at  Sabaria,  in  Pannonia, 
one  of  the  frontier  provinces  of  the  Empire,  and  now 
part  of  the  kingdom  of  Hungary.  The  .legion  in 
which  his  father  rose  to  the  rank  of  a  military  tribune 
was  for  some  years  stationed  in  the  neighborhood  of 
Pavia,  not  far  from  Milan.  Here  Martin  received  his 
early  education,  and,  though  both  his  parents  were 
pagan,  he  manifested  from  the  first  a  desire  to  embrace 

174 


ST.   MARTIN   OF  TOURS.  1/5 

Christianity.  So  strong  was  this  wish  that  at  the  age 
of  ten  years  Martin  violated  the  **  commandment  with 
promise  "  and  fled  from  home  to  become  a  catechumen. 
He  spent  some  years  in  wandering  about  from  church  to 
church  and  from  monastery  to  monastery,  a  wilful  little 
vagabond  even  though  he  sought  for  baptism.  Later 
on  his  father  discovered  his  hiding-place,  and,  bringing 
to  bear  an  imperial  decree  which  ordered  the  sons  of 
veterans  to  serve  in  the  army,  he  compelled  the  runa- 
way postulant  to  adopt  the  profession  of  a  soldier. 

The  discipline  was  needed  for  a  youth  of  fifteen,  such 
as  Martin  now  was.  Among  other  places,  he  served  in 
Lombardy  and  in  the  North  of  Gaul ;  for  how  long  a 
time,  it  is  difficult  to  say.  About  334  he  received  bap- 
tism, his  innocent  life,  in  spite  of  the  temptations  to 
which  he  was  exposed,  winning  for  him  the  admiration 
of  his  comrades.  Gradually  the  conviction^came  to  him 
that  for  the  Christian  warfare  was  unlawful.  He  asked 
permission  to  leave  the  army,  and  was  in  return  taunted 
with  cowardice.  A  battle  was  then  pending,  and  Mar- 
tin offered,  unarmed  and  protected  only  with  the  sign 
of  the  cross,  to  stand  in  the  front  rank  and  to  pierce 
the  legions  of  the  enemy.  The  commander  took  him 
at  his  word,  but  the  foe  sued  for  peace,  and  Martin  was 
discharged.  His  military  career  over,  he  went  to  the 
learned  and  famous  Hilary,  bishop  of  Poictiers,  and 
after  refusing  the  diaconate  was  by  him  ordained  to  the 
minor  order  of  exorcist.  This  must  have  been  after 
353,  in  which  year  Hilary  was  made  bishop;  but  the 
chronology  of  this  period  of  his  life  is  hopelessly  con- 
fused. The  ability  and  aptitude  of  the  converted  soldier 
was  considerable ;  for  when,  in  the  enthusiasm  of  his 


176  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

soul,  he  determined  to  return  to  his  native  land  and 
persuade  his  parents  to  embrace  the  faith,  Hilary  pas- 
sionately implored  him  to  come  back  again.  Not  his 
learning,  but  his  all-conquering  faith  and  dauntless  cour- 
age, gave  him  that  influence  which  swayed  men's  souls. 
The  visit  to  Pannonia  resulted  in  the  conversion  of  his 
mother — a  memorable  reversion  of  the  relationship  of 
Monica  and  Augustine,  and  of  Anthusa  and  Chrys- 
ostom. 

Sulpicius  Severus,  his  only  biographer,  Says  that  dur- 
ing this  journey  St,  Martin  had  presentiments  of  coming 
danger;  which,  if  true,  would  go  to  support  Words- 
worth's opinion — found  faulty  in  most  cases — that  such 
premonitions  should  be  heeded.  The  good  man,  how- 
ever, took  no  notice  of  them,  and,  losing  his  way 
among  the  Alps,  fell  in  the  hands  of  robbers.  They 
threatened  his  life,  and  only  by  the  interference  of  one 
of  the  thieves  was  he  saved  from  the  blow  of  an  axe 
brandished  over  his  head.  He  was  bound  and  given 
over  to  the  captain  as  his  special  booty.  In  a  secluded 
place  the  bandit  asked  him,  **  What  art  thou  ?"  The 
fearless  answer  came:  "I  am  a  Christian." — "Art  thou 
not  afraid  ?"  retorted  the  captain. — '*  I  never  felt  more 
secure,"  replied  Martin ;  "  the  mercy  of  the  Divine  will 
supply  grace  for  my  trial."  He  then  expressed  his  sor- 
row for  his  captor  because  the  life  of  robbery  put  him 
beyond  the  salvation  of  Christ.  The  faithful  preaching 
of  the  gospel  resulted  in  a  conversion ;  the  robber  set 
the  captive  free,  and  in  after-years  himself  told  the 
story.  Should  it  be  remembered  that  a  similar  tradition 
is  told  of  St.  John  the  Evangelist,  and  is  by  no  means 
of  unfrequent  occurrence  in  hagiological  pages,  it  should 


ST.   MARTIN  OF   TOURS.  1 7/ 

also  be  kept  in  mind  that  coincidences  do  not  necessa- 
rily imply  invention.  No  one  doubts  the  story  of  Moses 
set  in  the  ark  of  bulrushes  on  the  banks  of  the  Nile  be- 
cause Perseus  and  his  mother  Danae  were  launched  in 
a  boat  on  the  sea,  and  because  Romulus  and  Remus 
were  exposed  to  the  fury  of  the  Tiber.  One's  faith  is 
not  moved  even  though  more  than  a  thousand  years  be- 
fore the  days  of  the  great  Hebrew  leader  the  mother  of 
Sargon,  according  to  Professor  Sayce,  "brought  forth 
her  first-born  *  in  a  secret  place '  by  the  side  of  the 
Euphrates  and  placed  him  in  a  basket  of  rushes,  which 
she  daubed  with  bitumen  and  entrusted  to  the  waters  of 
the  river."  The  little  waif  was  saved,  and  in  time  be- 
came the  ruler  of  the  black-headed  race  of  Accad  and 
the  founder  of  the  realm  of  Babylonia. 

Martin  was  soon  called  upon  both  to  vindicate  and  to 
suffer  for  the  orthodox  faith.  In  an  age  of  intellectual 
unrest  he  remained  settled  in  mind  and  determined  at 
heart,  clinging,  with  the  tenacity  of  a  limpet  on  a  sea- 
washed  rock,  to  the  doctrines  set  forth  in  the  Nicene 
Creed.  But  at  this  time  Arianism  was  in  the  ascend- 
ency, and  was  especially  strong  in  lUyricum,  where 
Martin  began  his  championship.  Almost  alone  he 
wrought  in  this  stronghold  of  heresy,  preaching  and 
disputing,  until  finally  he  was  publicly  scourged  and 
driven  from  the  country.  Hilary  was  also  banished 
from  Poictiers,  and  Martin,  having  no  other  friend  in 
Gaul,  went  to  Italy.  He  found  a  retreat  at  Milan,  but 
persecution  set  so  hard  upon  him  that  he  was  obliged  to 
flee  to  the  little  island  of  Gallinaria,  off  the  coast  of  the 
Riviera.  Here  he  accidentally  poisoned  himself  by  eat- 
ing hellebore,  and  so  remarkable  was  his  recovery  from 

12 


lyS  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

the  consequent  near  approach  of  death  that  his  biogra- 
pher regards  it  as  a  signal  miracle.  In  360  the  tide 
turned,  and  he  was  able  to  leave  his  refuge  and  go  back 
to  his  old  friend  Hilary,  who  was  once  more  in  the  see 
of  Poictiers.  For  eleven  years  he  labored  near  him 
earnestly  and  successfully,  till  in  371  he  was  made 
bishop  of  Tours,  which  office  he  discharged  with 
efficiency  until  397,  when  he  died. 

The  character  of  the  man  may  be  illustrated  by  cer- 
tain features  and  events  of  his  life.     A  legend  illustrat- 
ing his  charity  is  shown  in  painted  window  and  sculp- 
tured figure  in  thousands  of  buildings  throughout  Chris- 
tendom.    Before  his  baptism,  when  a  soldier  at  Amiens, 
one  winter  day  he  saw  a  naked  beggar  perishing  from 
cold  at  the  gate  of  the  city.     Having  no  money,  he  took 
his  sword  and  cut  in   twain  his   cloak ;    one   half   he 
wrapped  around  the   shivering   body   of  the   destitute 
man.     The  act,  neither  extraordinary  nor  unnatural,  has 
obtained  extravagant  celebrity.     The  cloak   is  said   to 
have  been  long  and  miraculously  preserved  as  one  of 
the  holiest  and  most  valued  relics  of  France.     In  times 
of  war  it  was  carried  before  the  host,  and  in  times  of 
peace   was   kept  in  a  sanctuary.     It  is  also  stated  that 
etymologically  our  words  "  chapel  "  and  "  chaplain  "  are 
derived  from  that  cloak,  the  former  denoting  the  place 
where,  and  the  latter  the  person  by  whom,  it  was  kept. 
Nor  did  the   deed  of  the  soldier-saint  go  unrewarded. 
Little    thought  of  at   the    moment,    that   night,   in  his 
sleep,  Martin  saw  heaven  with  its  bright  and  wonderful 
glories.     He  beheld  the  angels   clustering  around   the 
throne,  and  he  heard  the  Lord  Jesus  telling  how  Mar- 
tin, though  only  a  catechumen,  had  ministered  to  his 


ST.   MARTIN  OF  TOURS.  J 79 

wants  and  covered  his  nakedness.  Then  Martin  knew 
that  he  had  done  a  deed  not  merely  to  a  beggar,  but  to 
Christ,  and  the  knowledge  both  gave  him  joy  and  has- 
tened the  day  of  his  baptism. 

History  gives  a  less  legendary  illustration  of  Martin's 
Christian  love.  In  the  year  385  certain  heretics  were 
on  trial  in  the  imperial  city  of  Treves.  They  had  ap- 
pealed from  the  ecclesiastical  to  the  civil  authority,  and 
before  the  emperor  Maximus,  who  by  rebellion  and  mur- 
der had  made  his  way  to  the  throne,  they  pleaded  for  jus- 
tice. Their  opponents  clamored  for  their  blood.  The 
torture  and  the  prison  were  not  enough :  death  alone 
could  expiate  for  errors  in  religion.  Then  St.  Martin 
appeared  as  the  friend  of  the  friendless  and  sought  for 
mercy  from  the  merciless.  He  interceded  with  the 
emperor;  he  begged  the  accusers  to  withdraw  their 
charges.  Excommunication,  and  not  death,  said  he, 
should  be  the  penalty  for  heresy.  His  anxiety  to  save 
them  drew  upon .  himself  the  accusation  of  heretic,  but 
he  cared  not.  He  went  farther:  he  denied  the  empe- 
ror's authority  to  judge  in  ecclesiastical  matters.  His 
persuasions  and  his  appeals  so  far  prevailed  that  while 
he  remained  in  the  city  the  sword  of  the  headsman  was 
stayed,  and  Maximus  promised  that  no  blood  should  be 
shed.  Martin  departed  to  his  home  satisfied  and  rejoic- 
ing;  but  when  the  intercessor  was  away,  the  enemies  of 
the  heretics  convinced  the  emperor  of  the  enormity  of 
their  crime  and  induced  him  to  sentence  seven  persons 
to  torture  and  to  death.  Thus  the  first  Christian  blood 
was  shed  at  a  Christian  bidding.  Henceforth  Martin 
refused  to  communicate  with  those  who  had  advised 
the   emperor  to   the   deed,  and   foretold  the  emperor's 


l8o  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

overthrow ;  which  event  happened  not  long  afterward. 
The  man  who  pleaded  so  earnestly  for  the  upholders  of 
a  heresy  he  vehemently  co¥idemned  is  worthy  of  honor. 
Giving  his  cloak  to  a  beggar  was  little  compared  to  his 
giving  his  voice  and  his  influence  for  an  enemy. 

Moreover,  this  charity  shone  in  a  pure  and  obedient 
life.  Christianity  had  not  then  affected  society  as  it  has 
since.  Few  were  able  at  once  to  cast  off  the  ways  and 
the  vices  of  the  paganism  in  which  they  had  been 
brought  up.  With  the  masses  taking  on  Christ  did 
not  immediately  change  all  things.  Religion  should 
work  as  leaven,  but  in  the  fourth  century,  so  far  as 
remote  parts  of  the  empire  were  concerned,  it  had  only 
begun  to  work.  Hence,  as  we  have  already  seen,  for 
one  then  to  live  unblamably  and  spotlessly  there  ap- 
peared no  alternative  but  the  solitary  life.  Separate 
from  the  world  and  associated  only  with  men  of  like 
mind  and  aim,  the  way  was  made  easier  for  the  soul 
to  obtain  visions  of  God  and  to  secure  virtue.  Of  this 
form  of  devotion  St.  Martin  was  an  earnest  advocate. 
He  loved  the  wilderness  and  taught  others  to  value  its 
restfulness  and  peace.  To  him  it  was  a  Sinai — a  place 
where  God  spoke,  and  beyond  which  lay  an  eternal  and 
delightsome  Canaan.  So  great  was  his  influence  that 
he  may  be  said  to  have  established  monasticism  in  Gaul. 
The  discipline  and  the  duties  which  he  ordained  were 
severe,  though  the  enthusiast  probably  thought  them 
pleasant.  The  worship  of  God,  the  reading  and  study 
of  the  divine  word,  the  watching  for  the  coming  of  the 
Son  of  man,  the  practice  of  self-denial  and  brotherly 
kindness  and  the  renunciation  of  the  pleasures  and 
gains  of  the  world  were  things  peculiarly  attractive  to 


ST.   MAkTIN  OF   TOURS.  l8l 

warm  and  pious  souls.  Touched  by  appeal  and  exam- 
ple, rich  men  relinquished  their  wealth,  kings  gave  up 
their  crowns,  statesmen  laid  down  the  reins  of  power 
and  the  young  abandoned  the  gayeties  of  society  and 
sought  to  find  God.  That  which  St.  Martin  taught  he 
also  practised.  He  was  an  ascetic  of  ascetics,  wearing 
the  rough  garb,  living  upon  the  coarse  food  and  watch- 
ing the  weary  watches  prescribed  for  his  followers.  In 
austerities  he  delighted ;  in  the  sanctuary  and  the  cell 
he  found  his  paradise.  When  forced  to  mingle  with 
people  of  the  world,  his  grace,  purity  and  honor  illu- 
mined his  person,  and  men  saw  in  his  face  a  glory  like 
that  which  Moses  had  when  for  forty  days  he  had  been 
alone  in  the  mount  with  Jehovah. 

Great  was  the  reluctance  with  which  Martin  gave  up 
his  seclusion  for  the  episcopate.  To  be  a  recluse  was 
the  dream  of  his  life,  but  the  Church  could  not  spare 
such  as  he.  The  fame  of  his  saintliness  spread  far  and 
wide.  The  wife  of  the  emperor  Maximus  publicly  and 
enthusiastically  spoke  of  it  in  his  presence,  and  received 
a  severe  rebuke  from  him  in  consequence.  Maximus 
himself  sought,  but  in  vain,  to  induce  him  to  overlook 
the  crimes  which  stained  the  imperial  purple.  Miracles 
and  revelations  were  freely  ascribed  to  him.  Number- 
less stories  were  told  of  things  he  had  done — how  he 
had  healed  the  sick,  raised  the  dead,  confounded  the 
adversaries  of  the  faith  and  thwarted  the  devil.  At  one 
time,  before  a  number  of  heathen,  he  saved  himself  from 
a  tree  which  in  falling  threatened  to  crush  him.  On  an- 
other occasion,  visiting  a  chapel  built  to  the  memory  of 
a  martyr,  it  was  revealed  to  him  that  the  people  were 
ignorantly  honoring  one  who  had  lived  a  violent  and 


1 82  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

wicked  life  and  for  robbery  had  been  put  to  death ; 
whereupon  he  forced  the  evil  one  to  rise  from  his  grave 
and  acknowledge  his  crime.  Truth  and  falsehood  are 
not  distinguishable  in  such  legends ;  but  if  inventions, 
they  at  least  mark  the  high  estimation  set  upon  St.  Mar- 
tin. Certainly  his  heroic  virtue  and  his  chaste  sim- 
plicity fascinated  every  beholder  and  drew  toward  him 
the  eye  of  Christendom.  When  the  people  of  Tours 
proceeded  to  elect  a  bishop  for  their  city,  many  deter- 
mined to  set  the  saintly  hermit  upon  the  episcopal 
throne.  Some,  judging  him  by  his  sordid  vestments 
and  unkempt  hair,  thought  him  simple  and  unworthy, 
but  on  the  day  of  the  election,  as  a  priest  read  before 
the  crowded  congregation  the  words  of  the  psalm,  "  Out 
of  the  mouth  of  babes  and  sucklings  thou  hast  wrought 
praise,"  the  assembly  at  once  applied  them  to  the  child- 
like Martin,  and  with  shouts  of  acclamation  declared 
him  to  be  their  bishop.  He  was  duly  consecrated,  and 
threw  himself  into  his  new  work  with  headstrong  energy 
and  reckless  determination.  His  zeal,  indeed,  seemed  im- 
perishable. He  began  his  labors  in  Gaul  when  through- 
out the  country-parts  heathenism  was  yet  prevalent  and 
vigorous.  Multitudes  in  the  regions  around  Poictiers 
and  Tours  clung  to  the  old  worship,  and  everywhere 
temples  and  priests  were  numerous.  Against  them  he 
raised  the  standard  of  the  cross,  and  for  years  toiled  and 
labored,  in  season  and  out  of  season  struggling  for  the 
success  of  the  gospel.  No  discouragements  daunted 
him,  no  promises  beguiled  him.  His  sermons  had  the 
eloquence  of  deathless  earnestness  and  unchanging  faith, 
and  his  life  by  its  constancy  and  love  was  as  the  mag- 
net in  its  attracting  power,  and  as  a  richly-perfumed 


ST.   MA J^ TIN  OF   TOURS.  1 83 

flower  in  its  delightful  fragrance  and  subtile  influence. 
He  watched  and  worked  and  waited;  by  and  by  the 
shadows  began  to  disperse.  Then  came  the  burst 
of  light.  The  temples  were  overthrown ;  the  idols 
were  destroyed ;  the  people  turned  to  God ;  the  land 
was  bright  with  the  gloiy  of  Christ;  and,  instead  of 
the  ciy  of  sacrifice  and  the  shout  of  superstition,  sacred 
hymn  and  solemn  prayer  arose  from  a  penitent  people 
and  like  clouds  of  incense  rolled  heavenward.  To  many 
a  desolate  home  and  weary  soul  came  the  gentleness  and 
the  truth  of  the  new  religion,  and  in  the  cross  of  Jesus 
men  saw  the  beauty  of  love  and  the  grandeur  of  grace. 
Moreover,  they  learned  to  value  more  truly  him  who 
had  helped  them  to  this  happy  consummation,  and 
whom  posterity  has  honored  with  the  title  of  "Apostle 
of  the  Gauls." 

In  an  age  when  the  faith  and  the  worship  of  the 
Church  were  passing  through  a  formative  crisis  and 
receiving  their  lasting  character,  St.  Martin,  with  all  the 
enthusiasm  of  his  ardent  temperament,  wrought  for 
those  expressions  of  truth  and  practices  of  ritual  which 
eventually  obtained  authority  in  Christendom.  Chari- 
table toward  all  men,  he  yet  denounced  error  wherever 
it  presented  itself  He  felt  that  heresy  was  the  fruitful 
source  of  viciousness  of  life  and  involved  its  victims  in 
irretrievable  ruin.  Before  them  he  saw  the  fires,  not 
of  an  inquisition,  but  of  an  eternal  Tartarus,  and,  like 
Athanasius  and  Ambrose,  he  would  pluck  misguided 
souls  as  brands  from  the  burning.  Nor  was  he  less 
earnest  for  the  elaboration  of  divine  service.  The  tem- 
ple below  should  be  a  type  of  the  temple  above.  The 
place  in  which  God  met  his  people  should  be  worthy, 


I  84  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

SO  far  as  man  could  make  it,  of  so  great  dignity,  and 
the  King's  daughter  should  be  all  glorious  within. 
Music  and  art  in  every  form  should  be  there — all  that 
could  appeal  through  the  senses  to  the  soul,  stirring  it  to 
devotion  and  bringing  in  captivity  to  Christ  every  power 
and  quality.  He  was  also  one  of  the  first  to  enter  into 
the  controversy  concerning  the  mutual  relations  of 
Church  and  State.  Interests  so  close  and  so  intermin- 
gled are  at  all  times  difficult  to  distinguish,  and  none 
can  clearly  define,  and  much  less  practically  observe, 
the  limits  of  the  secular  and  spiritual  realms.  St.  Mar- 
tin was  ready  to  render  unto  Caesar  the  things  which 
were  Caesar's,  but  he  was  not  willing  that  Caesar  should 
interfere  with  the  things  of  God.  He  maintained  that 
the  civil  power  had  no  right  or  authority  to  touch  eccle- 
siastical matters.  Without  considering  consequences, 
or  even  the  logical  conclusions  of  his  theory,  he  upheld 
the  dignity  of  the  Church  and  pressed  its  rights  and 
privileges  to  the  utmost  tension.  Religion  should  be 
socially  and  spiritually  supreme,  and  the  gospel  should 
influence  the  nation  not  merely  in  faith  and  morals,  but 
in  all  that  concerned  man.  The  decline  of  the  Roman 
authority  in  Gaul  gave  the  advantage  to  the  Church ; 
upon  the  ruins  and  out  of  the  materials  of  the  old 
system  arose  in  power  and  splendor  the  new  and  more 
lasting  fabric.  Obstacles,  of  course,  stood  in  the  way, 
but  St.  Martin  turned  not  aside  from  his  purpose.  Not 
even  ghostly  foes  moved  him.  When  Satan  represented 
himself  to  be  Christ,  the  discreet  and  discerning  bishop 
told  him  that  he  would  not  adore  unless  he  saw  in  him 
the  marks  and  the  wounds  of  the  cross. 

Such  virtues  which  adorned   Martin's  life  and  such 


ST.   MA  A' TIN   OF   TOUI^S.  1 85 

successes  which  awaited  his  efforts  could  not  fail  to 
secure  for  him  the  esteem  of  his  contemporaries.  Great 
as  this  was  before  his  consecration,  it  increased  much 
more  afterward.  Everywhere  he  was  known  as  the 
defender  of  the  faith  and  the  friend  of  the  faithless. 
Faults  he  had,  but  those  graces  which  are  deserving 
of  imitation  and  which  made  his  character  outshone 
all  such.  The  position  he  held  enabled  him  to  do 
things  impossible  to  other  men.  Once,  at  an  imperial 
banquet,  the  emperor  ordered  the  attendant  to  take  the 
wine  which  was  offered  to  him  first  to  Martin ;  the 
bishop,  having  drunk  of  it,  handed  the  goblet  to  the 
priest  who  was  acting  as  his  attendant  chaplain.  Max- 
imus  expected  that  he  would  have  had  the  satisfaction 
of  receiving  the  vessel  from  the  hands  of  his  exalted 
guest,  but  Martin  held  the  priest  to  be  next  in  dignity 
to  himself  and  the  wearer  of  the  surplice  greater  than 
the  man  clothed  in  purple.  His  action  was  loudly  ap- 
proved by  the  emperor  and  his  guests.  On  another 
occasion  the  empress  with  her  own  hands  prepared  a 
repast  for  the  bishop  and  waited  upon  him  as  a  servant. 
At  the  conclusion  of  the  meal  she  gathered  the  crumbs 
and  fragments  as  a  feast  for  her  own  consumption. 
Nothing  could  more  clearly  show  the  reverence  which 
was  yielded  to  Martin  both  as  a  man  of  worth  and  as 
a  minister  of  the  Lord  of  all  power. 

The  end  came  when  Martin  had  served  in  his  bish- 
opric for  more  than  a  quarter  of  a  century,  and  had 
passed  the  eightieth  year  of  his  age.  The  death  was 
as  triumphant  as  had  been  the  life.  Loving  friends 
watched  beside  him  as  he  passed  from  earth  to  heaven. 
They  besought  him  to   suffer  them  to    lay  him   upon 


I  86  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

straw.  "  Nay,  my  sons,"  he  replied ;  "  it  becomes  a 
Christian  to  die  on  ashes."  They  entreated  him  not 
to  leave  them  as  sheep  in  the  midst  of  wolves.  He 
wept ;  then  he  said,  "  Good  Lord,  if  I  be  necessary  for 
thy  people  to  do  good  unto  them,  I  will  refuse  no  labor, 
but  else,  for  mine  own  self,  I  beseech  thee  to  take  my 
soul."  As  long  as  he  had  strength  he  comforted  his 
weeping  brethren,  and  with  his  eyes  turned  intently 
heavenward  he  ceased  not  to  pray  till  his  waiting  soul 
was  received  up  and  he  beheld  the  Beatific  Vision. 

St.  Martin  died  at  Candes,  and  was  buried  there. 
Two  thousand  monks  followed  him  to  the  grave,  and 
ere  long  miracles  were  reported  to  have  been  wrought 
at  his  tomb.  In  that  lowly  grave  the  remains  of  the 
bishop  rested  from  the  year  397  to  the  year  473.  Then 
the  people  of  Tours,  having  built  a  large  and  noble 
cathedral  in  their  city,  with  great  pomp  and  exultation 
removed  thereto  the  ashes  of  St.  Martin.  As  the  elev- 
enth day  of  November  had  been  set  apart  in  the  eccle- 
siastical year  for  the  commemoration  of  his  death,  so 
now  the  fourth  day  of  July  was  appointed  to  be  observed 
in  memory  of  this  translation ;  both  days  still  remain  in 
the  Anglican  calendar.  Soon  wealth  came  pouring  into 
the  church  and  the  abbey  which  were  built  in  his  honor. 
His  shrine  became  the  most  revered  and  the  richest  of 
all  the  shrines  of  Gaul.  In  the  sanctuary  of  **  the  bishop 
of  incomprehensible  merit,"  as  St.  Thomas  of  Canterbury 
calls  him,  wonders  were  common  and  blessings  abundant. 
Pilgrimages  were  made  to  the  sacred  place,  and  admiring 
multitudes  heard  the  marvellous  legends  and  saw  the 
holy  relics.  Abroad  his  fame  was  scarcely  less  great. 
The  church  of  San  Martino  in  Monte,  at  Rome,  was 


ST.    MARTIN  OF   TOURS.  187 

built  within  a  century  of  his  death,  and  the  oldest  church 
in  England,  the  walls  of  which  are  even  now  standing — 
one  which  was  built  before  St.  Augustine  preached  in 
Canterbury — is  dedicated  to  his  memory.  William,  who 
had  won  the  crown  of  the  Confessor  of  England  by  the 
aid  of  the  apostle  of  the  Gauls,  gave  the  same  title  to 
the  abbey  which  he  built  on  the  field  of  Senlac.  London 
has  seven  churches  dedicated  in  like  manner,  and  twenty 
times  as  many  more  are  scattered  throughout  England. 
Ninian,  who  visited  Martin  in  394,  commemorated  him 
in  the  first  stone  church  erected  in  Scotland,  that  of  the 
Candida  Casa — the  "  White  House  " — on  the  promon- 
tory of  Whithern  or  Rosnat.  The  new  times  and  the 
new  lands  have  not  been  so  free  in  their  recognition  of 
the  saint,  but  the  name  occurs  here  and  there  both  in 
America  and  in  Australia,  and  one  of  the  prettiest 
churches  on  this  continent  is  that  of  St.  Martin  in 
Montreal,  the  white  city  on  the  St.  Lawrence.  Towns, 
families  and  children  were  named  after  him  ;  Luther  was 
christened  "  Martin  "  because  he  was  born  late  on  the 
eve  of  St.  Martin's  day — a  fact  which  has  made  the 
name  highly  unpopular  in  Roman  Catholic  countries 
ever  since.  A  gentle  summer  bird  also  bears  his  name 
and  lives  under  his  protection ;  taught  by  past  ages  to 
revere  the  saint,  the  rudest  peasant  has  learned  not  to 
molest  the  martin.  The  short  season  of  fine  weather 
which  sometimes  happens  in  the  beginning  of  Novem- 
ber— the  '•  latter  spring,"  the  summer  of  St.  Luke  or 
of  All  Hallows  or  of  the  Indian — is  also  called  St. 
Martin's  little  summer;  so  Joan  of  Arc  exclaimed: 

"  This  night  the  siege  assuredly  I'll  raise  : 
Expect  St.  Martin's  summer,  halcyon  days." 


188  READINGS  IN   CHURCH  HISTORY. 

It  SO  happened  that  the  eleventh  of  November  was  in 
pagan  times  a  great  festival,  and  perhaps  it  was  fitting 
that  he  who  had  driven  the  heathen  out  of  Gaul  should 
be  honored  by  receiving  a  day  once  dedicated  to  a 
heathen  deity.  In  this  month  the  Athenians  observed 
the  Anthesteria  in  honor  of  Bacchus,  and  the  first  day 
of  the  feast,  the  eleventh  day  of  the  month,  they  called 
the  Titdoiyca  because  then  they  tapped  their  barrels ; 
others  called  it  the  day  of  good  cheer.  The  Roman 
Vinalia  corresponded  thereto,  and  later,  in  the  English 
Martilmasse,  good  Christian  souls  observed  the  social 
elements  of  the  season  with  a  vim  and  a  delight  by  no 
means  second  to  those  of  Greeks  or  Romans.  St.  Mar- 
tin, having  taken  the  place  of  Bacchus,  became  the 
patron  saint  of  the  lovers  of  the  barley  and  the  vine. 
His  day  continued  to  be  associated  with  merrymaking 
and  good  cheer.  Beer  flowed  freely  in  the  gatherings 
of  friends  before  the  "  crackling  brake ;"  on  the  table 
was  set  the  goose,  roasted  and  smoking  hot,  in  memory 
of  St.  Martin,  when  the  people  wanted  to  make  him 
bishop  of  Tours,  having  been  discovered  by  the  cack- 
ling of  that  noble  bird,  though  it  is  to  be  feared  that 
the  guests  around  the  board  thought  no  more  of  saints 
or  of  bishops  than  they  did  of  the  sibilant  flock  that 
once  saved  Rome.  The  beef  and  the  bacon  that  should 
serve  for  the  coming  winter  were  now  prepared ;  and  as 
surely  as  the  season  brought  death  to  the  fatted  pig  and 
to  the  aged  cow,  so  the  ancients  said  of  the  rogue  or  the 
evil-doer  who  for  long  escaped  punishment,  "  Martinmas 
will  come  in  time."  On  such  a  day  there  was  no  stint 
— the  only  day  in  the  year  w^hen  the  country-folk  of 
mediaeval  England  ate  fresh  beef.     In  their  boundless 


Sr.   MARTIN  OF   TOURS.  1 89 

freedom  they  feared  nothing:  St.  Martin  saved  from 
sudden  death,  so  that  apoplexy  was  powerless  then, 
and  he  even  saved  from  small-pox,  so  that  none  need 
be  afraid  of  infection. 

Perhaps  St.  Martin  might  have  fared  better  had  he 
not  been  intimately  associated  either  with  English  fes- 
tivity or  with  Scotch  quarter-day.  He  was  himself  one 
of  the  most  abstemious  of  men,  and  no  more  cared  for 
feasting  and  drinking  than  an  impecunious  tenant  cares 
for  paying  his  rent.  However,  otherwise  he  was  more 
unquestionably  honored.  The  Church  gave  him  two 
days  of  celebration  in  the  year — both  simple  feasts  cum 
regimine  CJiori,  one  of  them  with  an  octave,  and  there- 
fore as  good  as  John  of  Beverley  or  Sylvester  of  Rome 
received,  and  much  better  than  those  which  fell  to  the 
lot  of  Chrysogone,  Cyprian  or  Cuthberga.  In  time  he 
became  the  patron  saint  of  Norway  and  shared  with  St. 
Denys  the  honor  of  France.  He  is  said  to  have  been 
the  first  saint-confessor  to  whom  prayers  were  offered ; 
his  name  appears  in  the  earliest  of  litanies,  and  cities 
and  princes  placed  themselves  and  their  enterprises  un- 
der his  protection.  It  became  even  popular  to  claim 
relationship  to  him  ;  St.  Patrick  is  said  not  only  to  have 
been  his  pupil,  but  also  to  have  been  the  son  of  his 
sister  Conkessa.  Among  the  honorary  lay-canons  of 
the  abbey  built  to  his  memory  near  Tours  were  kings, 
princes  and  earls — among  them,  the  sovereigns  of 
France,  the  Douglases  of  Scotland  and  the  counts 
of    Planders    and   Angouleme. 

St.  Martin  was  reputed  to  be  as  tenacious  of  his  rights 
when  a  saint  as  he  had  been  when  a  bishop.  He  would 
help  readily  enough  in  the  time  of  need,  but  he  was  the 


190  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY, 

last  in  heaven  to  be  defrauded  of  what  belonged  to  him. 
When  Hlodwig  was  about  to  set  out  on  his  expedition 
against  the  Goths,  he  gave  a  horse  to  the  saint ;  on  his 
return  he  wished  to  redeem  his  gift,  and  made  an  offer 
of  a  hundred  shiUings.  The  horse  would  not  stir; 
another  hundred,  and  the  horse  came  away.  So,  when 
William  the  Conqueror  delayed  the  building  of  the 
abbey  he  had  vowed,  he  was  constantly  reminded  of 
the  risk  he  was  running.  At  last  the  walls  arose  on 
the  bleak,  waterless  hills,  a  region  by  no  means  approved 
of  by  the  brethren  of  St.  Martin  from  the  mother-abbey 
at  Tours — or,  rather,  at  Marmontier — but  the  high  altar 
rested  on  the  spot  where  Harold  Godwin's  standard- 
bearer  had  stood  on  the  day  when  the  Norman  duke 
won  his  "  crowning  mercy,"  and  both  William  and  St. 
Martin  were  satisfied. 

Nor  was  the  beatified  bishop  without  means  of  secur- 
ing his  privileges.  When  the  Danes  overran  the  region 
of  Touraine,  the  body  of  St.  Martin  was  taken  by  the 
clergy  of  his  church  from  Tours  to  Auxerre.  There  it 
was  placed  in  the  sanctuary  of  St.  German,  the  famous 
apostle  of  orthodoxy  to  the  British  Church  in  the  days 
of  the  Pelagian  heresy.  The  people  thronged  to  the 
church,  and  in  gratitude  for  the  cures  wrought  upon 
them  contributed  freely.  A  dispute  arose  between  the 
monks  of  Tours  and  the  monks  of  Auxerre  about  the 
division  of  the  money,  both  sides  strongly  advocating 
the  claims  of  their  respective  patrons.  At  last,  says 
William  of  Malmesbury,  "  to  solve  this  knotty  doubt  a 
leprous  person  was  sought  and  placed,  nearly  at  the  last 
gasp,  wasted  to  a  skeleton  and  already  dead,  as  it  were, 
in  a  living  carcase,  between  the  bodies  of  the  two  saints. 


ST.   MARTIN  OF   TOURS.  I9I 

All  human  watch  was  prohibited  for  the  whole  night; 
the  glory  of  Martin  alone  was  vigilant,  for  the  next  day 
the  skin  of  the  man  on  his  side  appeared  clear,  while  on 
that  of  German  it  was  discolored  with  its  customary  de- 
formity. And,  that  they  might  not  attribute  the  miracle 
to  chance,  they  turned  the  yet-diseased  side  to  Martin. 
As  soon  as  the  morning  began  to  dawn  the  man  was 
found  by  the  hastening  attendants  with  his  skin  smooth, 
perfectly  cured,  declaring  the  kind  condescension  of  the 
resident  patron,  who  yielded  to  the  honor  of  such  a  wel- 
come stranger."  This  delicate  way  of  smoothing  the 
wounded  feelings  of  the  brethren  of  Auxerre  reflects  as 
great  credit  upon  their  visitors  from  Tours  as  the  mira- 
cle itself  does  upon  St.  Martin.  Pity  indeed  it  was  that 
leprosy  had  not  been  blotted  out  by  such  means ! 

All  the  mediaeval  saints  cured  this  disease — St.  Thomas 
of  Canterbury,  for  instance,  was  unequalled  in  his  num- 
ber of  miracles — and  yet  leprosy  mightily  prevailed. 
He  went  far  beyond  St  Martin  in  some  respects.  One 
night,  as  a  poor  ignorant  leper  lay  fast  asleep,  the  martyr 
of  Canterbury  came  to  him  and  said,  "  Gimpe,  dormis?'* 
and  poor  Gimp  replied :  '*  I  have  slept,  but  now  thou 
hast  disturbed  me.  Who  art  thou  ?"  He  who  tells  the 
story  had  not  read  of  the  prince  of  Denmark,  so  he 
makes  the  martyr  answer :  "  I  am  Thomas,  archbishop 
of  Canterbury.  Dost  thou  know  Jordan  the  son  of 
Eisulf  ?"  Yes,  Gimp  knows  him ;  and  then  the  disturber 
of  his  peace  sends  a  message  by  Gimp  to  that  naughty 
Jordan,  who,  it  seems,  had  had  a  son  restored  to  life  by 
St.  Thomas,  and  had  forthwith,  in  the  joy  and  gratitude  of 
his  soul,  vowed  a  pilgrimage  to  the  shrine  of  the  great 
saint;    which  vow,  he,  Jordan    of  Plumstead,   in   Nor- 


192  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

folk,  being  a  man  like  unto  most  men,  had  neglected. 
Gimp  did  not  get  cured,  though  he  contrived  to  convey 
the  message,  and  though  Jordan  and  his  wife  when  they 
went  to  Canterbury  were  abundantly  rewarded  ;  but  he 
had  been  spoken  to  by  St.  Thomas,  and  that  was  worth 
more  than  healing. 

St.  Martin  wrought  miracles  in  his  lifetiijie,  but  he 
never  did  anything  like  that,  though  his  name  was  pow- 
erful as  was  that  of  St.  Thomas  to  help  others.  Bene- 
dict of  Peterborough  says  that  when  some  furious  dogs 
were  about  to  bite  him  he  remembered  that  one  had 
once  closed  the  mouths  of  angry  hounds  by  using  the 
name  of  St.  Martin ;  he  thought  the  English  martyr 
was  as  good  as  the  French  confessor,  so  he  cried  aloud 
to  the  dogs :  "  In  nomine  beati  Thomas,  obmutescite." 
They  immediately  obeyed.  We  link  the  names  of  Mar- 
tin and  Thomas  together  because  there  seems  to  have 
been  an  almost  nervous  wish  on  the  part  of  the  writers 
of  the  miracles  of  the  latter  to  liken  him  to  the  saint  of 
Tours,  and  to  make  credible  the  wonders  of  the  one  by 
pointing  out  the  unquestionable  wonders  of  the  other — 
an  evidence,  again,  to  the  position  St.  Martin  held  in 
men's  esteem. 

Superstition  was  strong,  but  superstition  testifies  to 
renown  and  to  worth.  Had  St.  Martin  been  without 
merit,  he  could  scarcely  have  become  so  great  an  object 
of  regard.  Stripped  of  the  legends  which  a  credulous 
age  invented,  the  life  stands  out  with  a  lustre  which 
time  has  not  altogether  dimmed.  As  one  who  loved 
and  labored  for  the  Church  of  God,  by  his  zeal  driving 
from  the  fold  erroneous  doctrines  and  by  his  life  exhibit- 
ing the  power  of  the  gospel,  he  is  worthy  of  being  had 


ST.  MARTIN  OF  TOURS.  1 93 

in  remembrance.  Many  hands  have  been  used  in  build- 
ing the  walls  of  Jerusalem,  but  few  hands  were  busier  or 
did  better  work  than  those  of  the  soldier,  hermit,  mis- 
sionary and  bishop  S.  Martinus  Turonensis. 

13 


CHAPTER    VII. 

St.  iWnnica  ani  S>t.  augugtine* 

For  many  centuries  St.  Monica  has  been  regarded  as 
one  of  the  noblest  types  of  womanly  saintliness  which 
the  religion  of  Jesus  Christ  has  produced.  Her  ele- 
vated, tender  and  devoted  piety,  her  patient  prayerful- 
ness,  her  affectionate  and  beautiful  enthusiasm,  her 
gentleness  and  consistency  of  character,  give  to  her  a 
position  in  the  first  rank  of  noble  and  godly  matrons 
and  cast  upon  her  a  glory  which  time  has  not  tarnished. 
The  story  of  her  life  belongs  to  the  fourth  century  and 
to  Northern  Africa. 

A  thousand  years  before  the  Christian  era  the  long 
strip  of  coast-line  running  from  the  Altars  of  Philainoi 
westward  beyond  the  Pillars  of  Heracles  was  dotted 
with  colonies  founded  by  the  adventurous  Phoenicians. 
In  the  course  of  time  the  country  became  the  America 
of  the  old  world,  with  the  famous  Carthage  as  its  New 
York,  and  to  its  shores  came  ships  laden  with  immigrants 
and  with  stores  of  commerce  from  Tyre  and  Sidon  and 
elsewhere,  A  nation  was  developed,  and  for  nearly  half 
a  millennium  wealth  and  power  belonged  to  this  maritime 
and  warlike  people ;  then  began  the  struggle  with  Rome, 
ending,  after  generations  of  strife,  in  the  absorption  of 
North  Africa  in  the  all-conquering  Roman  empire.     It 

194 


ST.   MONICA   AND   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  1 95 

was  a  subject-province  of  that  empire  in  St.  Monica's 
time ;  its  glories  had  for  ever  passed  away,  its  civiHza- 
tion  and  commerce  were  destroyed  and  the  noble  build- 
ings of  its  once  fair  and  mighty  capital  were  thrown 
down. 

It  is  not  certain  to  what  race  Monica  belonged — 
whether  to  the  new  Latin  invaders  or  to  the  ancient 
Phoenician  colonists;  probably  the  latter,  if  the  fact 
that  her  name  is  scarcely  of  Latin  etymology  goes  for 
anything.  She  was  born  in  331  in  Numidia,  the  mod- 
ern Algiers — the  land  of  the  wanderers,  as  the  aborigi- 
nals had  been  called  in  earlier  days.  Christianity  was 
establishing  itself  in  the  province,  and  Monica — a  mem- 
ber of  a  Christian  family  and  brought  up  by  an  aged 
and  devout  nurse — was  among  its  most  ardent  adhe- 
rents and  an  eager  student  of  holy  Scripture.  She 
became  the  wife  of  one  named  Patricius,  a  man  of  con- 
siderable importance  and  of  indifferent  circumstances 
in  Thagaste,  a  town  about  a  hundred  and  fifty  miles 
from  Carthage.  He  was  a  heathen,  churlish,  impatient, 
worldly,  sensual  and  addicted  to  glaring  vices.  His 
loose  habits  were  the  cause  of  great  pain  to  the  tender- 
hearted Monica,  but,  with  a  love  and  grace  not,  indeed, 
rare  in  such  as  she,  she  endured  his  unkindness,  his 
cruel  words,  his  reproaches  against  her  religion,  and  even 
his  brutishness,  determined,  if  it  were  possible,  to  win 
him  to  the  truth.  She  concealed  or  excused  his  wrong- 
doings ;  she  refrained  from  reproaching  or  upbraiding 
him ;  she  gave  him  civility  for  rudeness  and  virtue  for 
vice,  and  shined  in  her  house  as  a  mirror  of  moral  love- 
liness. The  life  was  hard  and  she  not  twenty  years  old, 
but  her  faith  in  the  power  of  Christ  was  mighty,  and 


196  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

before  the  throne  of  that  Christ  she  pleaded  and  prayed 
both  for  her  wayward  husband  that  he  might  be  con- 
verted and  for  herself  that  she  might  persevere  unto 
the  end. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  354  was  born  unto  the 
ill-mated    couple   the  child  who  afterward  became  the 
immortal  St.  Augustine.     He  inherited  from  his  parents 
the  passionate  sensibility  of  the  African  nature — from 
his  father  a  sensual  disposition,  and  from  his  mother 
affectionate  sympathies.     His  opening  mind  was  trained 
by  her  noble  intellect,  and  his  father,  in  spite  of  his 
faults,  saw  that  the  boy  received  a  good  education.     He 
was  sent  to  school  at  Madura  and  at  Carthage,  and  very 
early  his  splendid  intellectual  powers  began  to  develop. 
Monica  caused  him  to  be  entered  as  a  catechumen,  but 
his  baptism  was  deferred,  partly  because  of  his  father's 
feelings,  and  partly  at  his  own  request  lest  he  should 
incur  the  deeper  guilt  of  sin  after  baptism.     As  he  grew 
the  evil  developed  as  well  as  the  good.     The  father's 
example  was    not  lost   upon   him ;    he  frequented  the 
scenes  of  vice  and  brutality,  and  with  his  strong,  im- 
petuous nature  rushed  headlong  into  the  grossest  sins. 
So  impure,  cynical  and  coarse  did  he  become  that  for 
a  time  his  mother  declined  his  presence  at  her  table  or 
under  her  roof     Thus  the  sorrows  and  the  anxieties  of 
the  devoted  woman  were  doubled,  but  still  she  pleaded 
with  God  and  wrought  with  husband  and  son  for  better 
things.     No  more  beautiful  picture  in  all  history  is  there 
than  the  heroism  of  the  saintly  Monica.     Her  prayers 
were  answered  in  the  first  instance  :  she  saw  her  once-cruel 
and  wilful  husband  brought  into  the  fold  of  Christ,  and 
in  the  year  371,  when  Augustine  was  seventeen  years  of 


ST.   MONICA   AND   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  1 97 

age,  Patricius  fell  asleep  in  Jesus  and  was  laid  by  Monica 
in  the  earth  in  sure  and  certain  hope  of  a  joyful  resur- 
rection :  "  They  that  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy." 
The  sunlight  broke  through  the  clouds,  and  gave  to 
the  widow  that  peace  which  none  but  the  believer  in 
Christ  can  know. 

A  wealthy  friend  living  in  the  same  village  of  Tha- 
gaste  enabled  Monica  to  continue  the  education  of 
Augustine.  He  was  now  in  the  great  and  gay  city  of 
Carthage,  then  second  in  importance  only  to  Alexandria 
of  all  the  seaports  on  the  southern  shore  of  the  Medi- 
terranean. Here,  while  pursuing  his  studies,  he  plunged 
deeper  into  sin.  Before  the  first  year  of  his  mother's 
widowhood  was  over  he  brought  to  her  heart  a  sorrow 
greater  than  any  she  had  yet  endured.  Still  she  clung 
to  him,  and  ceased  not  her  endeavors  to  win  him  over 
to  better  things.  She  remained  true  even  when  he  pro- 
fessed the  doctrines  of  the  Manichaeans — a  system  in 
which  hypocrisy  and  sensuality  were  but  thinly  veiled 
by  false  philosophy  and  ascetic  professions.  She  made 
him  a  home,  and  by  kindness  tried  to  save  his  soul. 

Years  passed  by.  Augustine  grew  in  learning  and  in 
influence,  but  his  life  remained  unchanged.  He  contin- 
ued in  sin,  in  splendid  wickedness ;  his  poor  mother,  as 
ever,  continued  the  same  loving,  earnest  and  consistent 
Christian. 

When  in  his  twenty-ninth  year,  Augustine  resolved  to 
leave  Carthage  for  Rome ;  he  complained  of  the  disor- 
derly and  intolerable  habits  of  the  Carthaginian  students, 
and  hoped  in  the  great  imperial  capital  to  find  work  more 
congenial  and  life  more  enjoyable.  Against  this  plan 
Monica  set  her  face  ;  she  entreated  him  not  to  go.     She 


198  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

pointed  out  the  evil  and  danger,  and  one  evening  he 
gave  her  the  solemn  promise  that  he  would  remain  in 
Carthage.  He  kissed  her  good-night ;  she  went  to  her 
closet  and  thanked  God.  In  the  morning,  from  her  open 
window,  she  looked  northward  upon  the  blue  waters  of 
the  still  Mediterranean.  The  white  sails  of  a  ship  were 
spread  against  the  distant  horizon ;  on  that  ship,  as  she 
soon  discovered,  was  Augustine. 

The  young  man  reached  Rome,  and  there  a  sickness 
awaited  him.  He  recovered  only  to  fall  into  complete 
infidelity,  and  almost  as  complete  poverty.  He  sought 
to  teach,  and  obtained  a  number  of  students ;  but  the 
Roman  students  had  a  habit  of  deserting  a  professor 
without  paying  him  for  the  lectures  which  they  had 
heard.  This  sort  of  thing  went  on  for  about  six 
months,  and  then  he  was  glad  to  accept  an  appoint- 
ment at  Milan. 

In  the  mean  time,  the  broken-hearted  Monica  set  out 
in  search  of  her  wayward  son.  **  My  good  and  faithful 
mother,"  said  Augustine  afterward,  "  followed  me  by 
land  and  water."  It  did  not  look  as  if  her  prayers  were 
to  be  answered,  but  she  had  undying  faith.  She  had 
prayed  and  she  had  wrought.  Once  she  begged  a  bish- 
op, a  man  of  wisdom  and  years,  to  talk  to  the  youth,  but 
he  told  her  it  would  be  useless  so  long  as  he  was  flushed 
with  errors  of  life  and  doctrine ;  if  left  to  himself,  he 
added,  he  would  discover  their  emptiness.  She  urged 
her  petition  with  tears,  but  he  dismissed  her  with  the 
assurance  that  it  was  "  impossible  that  the  child  of  those 
tears  should  perish."  She  treasured  up  these  words  as 
if  they  had  been  a  voice  from  heaven.  She  took  ship 
for  Rome,  and  in  that  city  she  sought  for  the  prodigal. 


57:   MONICA   AND   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  1 99 

It  was  not  till  the  autumn  of  the  following  year,  384, 
that  she  found  him  at  Milan.  Her  devotion  was  not 
unrewarded,  for  she  beheld  signs  of  better  things. 

The  bishop  of  Milan  at  that  time  was  the  great  and 
eloquent  Ambrose.  Everybody  who  visited  Milan  went 
to  hear  him  preach ;  his  ability  as  a  rhetorician  was 
known  far  and  wide.  Augustine,  too,  was  attracted; 
he  attended  Ambrose's  sermons — not  for  the  sake  of 
religious  instruction,  as  he  himself  says,  but  to  ascer- 
tain if  the  bishop's  eloquence  deserved  its  fame.  But 
by  degrees  the  words  of  Ambrose  produced  an  effect ; 
gradually  the  mind  of  Augustine  was  opened  to  con- 
viction. He  began  to  see  at  least  his  follies  of  doc- 
trine, if  not  his  sins  of  life.  He  introduced  himself  to 
the  bishop  and  told  him  his  story.  Ere  long  he  be- 
came a  catechumen,  and  thus  placed  himself  under  relig- 
ious instruction.  And  it  was  the  delight  of  Monica,  when 
she  reached  Milan,  to  see  her  Augustine,  the  son  of  her 
heart's  affection,  a  disciple  of  the  Church  and  sitting  as 
a  learner  at  the  feet  of  one  of  the  Church's  greatest 
teachers.  All  that  he  had  done  was  forgotten  and  for- 
given, and  she  expressed  the  confident  hope  of  seeing 
him  a  true  believer  before  she  died.  Nor  did  she  fail 
to  profit  by  the  ministrations  of  the  bishop ;  she  heard 
his  sermons,  loved  his  hymns  and  followed  his  advice. 

Monica  remained  in  Milan,  and  Augustine  continued 
in  the  position  he  had  made  for  himself  there.  Better 
things  had  indeed  begun.  A  mother's  prayers  were  in 
the  way  of  being  answered ;  bread  cast  on  the  waters 
was  after  many  days  about  to  be  found.  It  was  a  fierce 
struggle  through  which  Augustine  had  to  pass — a  strug- 
gle from  death  unto  life.    He  saw  his  mother's  own  pure 


200  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  V. 

nature ;  he  heard  of  the  devotion  of  men  who  had  given 
up  the  world.  The  vileness  of  his  own  past  career  rose 
up  before  his  mind  in  contrast,  and  excited  violent 
agitations.  One  day,  unable  in  the  wild  conflict  of  his 
thoughts  to  bear  society,  he  rushed  forth  into  the  gar- 
den, cast  himself  down  under  a  fig  tree,  and  with  a  gush 
of  tears  passionately  cried  out  for  deliverance  from  the 
bondage  of  his  sins.  While  thus  engaged  he  heard  as 
if  from  a  neighboring  house  the  voice  of  a  child  sing- 
ing repeatedly,  "  Take  up  and  read."  He  thought  it  to 
be  a  voice  from  heaven.  Returning  to  the  house,  he 
seized  the  volume  of  St.  Paul's  Epistles  and  opened  on 
the  text,  "  Not  in  rioting  and  drunkenness,  not  in  cham- 
bering and  wantonness,  not  in  strife  and  envying :  but 
put  ye  on  the  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  and  make  not  provis- 
ion for  the  flesh  to  fulfil  the  lusts  thereof"  From  that 
moment  Augustine  felt  himself  another  man.  The  light 
of  freedom  entered  into  his  heart;  all  the  doubts  of 
darkness  wer^  scattered.  Who  can  tell  the  joy  of 
angels  over  one  sinner  that  repenteth  ?  Who  can  tell 
the  exultation  of  Monica  when  she  saw  the  prayers  of 
more  than  thirty  years  answered  ? 

On  the  eve  of  Easter  day,  in  the  year  387,  in  the 
baptistery  of  the  Cathedral  of  Milan,  the  newly-con- 
verted Augustine  received  the  sacrament  of  regenera- 
tion. His  mother  and  other  friends  were  present.  The 
rite  was  performed  by  St.  Ambrose,  and  tradition  re- 
cords that  as  the  water  of  baptism  fell  like  heavenly  dew 
upon  the  brow  of  the  white-robed  catechumen  the  aged 
bishop  broke  out  into  song :  "  We  praise  thee,  O  God, 
we  acknowledge  thee  to  be  the  Lord ;"  to  which,  verse 
by  verse,  Augustine  and  the  company   responded.     It 


ST.   MONICA   AND   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  201 

was  a  day  never  to  be  forgotten,  for,  evil  though  his 
early  life  had  been,  this  son  of  a  saintly  mother  was  a 
chosen  vessel  to  bear  God's  grace  and  glory  and  destined 
to  be  a  prince  of  theologians  and  one  of  the  greatest  of 
the  Fathers.  A  modern  painting  represents  Monica  sit- 
ting and  holding  the  hand  of  her  son  and  with  him  gaz- 
ing upward.     Possibly  the  scene  is  that  of  this  day : 

"Together  'neath  the  Italian  heaven 
They  sit,  the  mother  and  her  son, 

He  late  from  her  by  errors  riven, 
Now^  both  in  Jesus  one; 

The  dear  consenting  hands  are  knit, 

And  either  face,  as  there  they  sit, 

Is  lifted  as  to  something  seen 

Beyond  the  blue  serene." 

And  now  that  Monica's  every  wish  had  been  realized 
she  would  wend  her  way  to  her  native  home  in  Numidia. 
Lovingly  Augustine  started  with  her,  having  sold  all  his 
goods  and  given  the  proceeds  to  the  poor.  But  ere  they, 
left  Italy  sickness  came  upon  the  devoted  Monica,  and 
the  sickness  was  unto  death.  The  blue  sea  was  stretched 
before  them  and  the  vessel  was  ready  to  sail  to  the  Nu- 
midian  land,  but  for  the  saintly  matron  there  was  another 
ship  and  another  voyage.  Once  she  had  hoped  to  have 
been  buried  beside  Patricius ;  then  with  quiet  faith  she 
exclaimed,  "  God  will  know  in  the  last  day  whence  to 
raise  me  up."  Folded  in  the  arms  of  her  loved  Augus- 
tine, thanking  God  that  the  desire  of  her  heart  was  accom- 
plished in  the  conversion  of  her  son,  she  breathed  her 
gentle  and  affectionate  spirit  into  the  keeping  of  her 
Lord  and  entered  into  rest.  "  Lay  me  anywhere,"  she 
had  said,  "  only  remember  me  at  the  altar  of  the  Lord;" 


202  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

and  Augustine  buried  her  in  the  quiet  of  that  Italian 
country,  and  prayed  that  the  Redeemer  would  guide 
her  from  happiness  to  happiness  and  from  joy  to  joy 
till  she  should  see  the  fulness  of  the  Beatific  Vision. 

From  the  first  Monica  received  the  reverence  of 
Christendom.  They  who  knew  her,  says  Augustine, 
"  dearly  loved  her  Lord  in  her,  for  they  felt  his  pres- 
ence in  her  heart."  In  the  calendar  of  the  Latin  Church 
the  4th  of  May  has  long  been  appointed  as  her  commem- 
oration day,  but  her  name  does  not  occur  in  that  of  the 
Anglican  Church.  Nevertheless,  no  writers  have  given 
her  greater  praise  than  have  those  of  the  Church  of 
England.  Only  one  is  higher  among  women — she  who 
became  the  mother  of  the  Lord.  Next  to  Mary,  first 
among  the  daughters  of  Israel  appear  Ruth  and  Lydia 
and  Dorcas  and  Monica.  After  fifteen  hundred  years 
the  Church  still  points  to  the  graces  and  virtues,  the 
devotion  and  holiness,  of  St.  Monica  as  worthy  of  im- 
itation ;  and  for  ever  will  she  treasure  the  memory  of 
one  whose  character  is  as  lovely  and  whose  life  is  as 
beautiful  as  is  the  most  lovely  and  beautiful  creation 
which  even  the  world  of  imagination  has  .known. 

About  a  year  after  the  decease  of  his  mother  Augus- 
tine went  back  to  Africa,  intending  to  adopt  the  cenobite 
life.  At  Thagaste,  on  a  little  estate  left  him  by  his  father, 
he  founded  a  community,  and  in  retirement,  besides  prac- 
tising the  austerities  prescribed  by  monachism,  he  both 
composed  some  of  his  earliest  treatises  and  brought  to 
Christ  one  of  the  dearest  friends  of  his  youth.  In  391, 
visiting  Hippo,  a  maritime  city  and  once  the  home  of 
the  Numidian  kings,  he  was  prevailed  upon  by  the 
bishop  Valerius   to    receive   ordination.      That  prelate, 


■    Sj.   iHuNICA   AND  ST.   AUGUSTJNE.  203 

being  a  Greek,  was  not  expert  in  the  Latin  language, 
and  Augustine,  notwithstanding  some  opposition,  estab- 
hshed  the  precedent  of  a  priest  preaching  in  the  pres- 
ence of  a  bishop.  Four  years  later,  in  ignorance  of  the 
Nicene  canon  which  forbade  a  diocese  having  two  bish- 
ops, he  was  made  bishop-coadjutor,  but,  Valerius  dying 
soon  after,  he  succeeded  to  the  sole  jurisdiction.  His 
qualities  now  shone  with  greater  brilliancy  than  ever. 
Neither  ensnared  nor  numbed  by  the  splendor  of  a  posi- 
tion which  was  enhanced  by  imperial  favor  and  by  the 
general  recognition  of  his  intellectual  and  moral  influ- 
ence, he  labored  earnestly  both  for  the  salvation  of 
souls  and  for  his  own  growth  in  virtue.  He  lived 
plainly,  denying  himself  the  comforts  which  he  might 
reasonably  have  used,  so  that  he  might  have  more  to 
give  to  the  poor.  A  servant  of  servants,  he  sought  to 
help  all  who  came  in  his  way.  Dignity  unsought  was 
his,  but  with  the  broken  and  contrite  heart  of  a  true 
penitent  he  never  forgot  what  he  had  been  and  the  woe- 
ful state  from  which,  by  the  grace  of  God,  he  had  been 
rescued.  *'  Too  late  I  loved  thee,"  he  cries,  "  thou  Beauty 
of  ancient  days,  yet  ever  new !  Too  late  I  loved  thee ! 
And,  behold,  thou  wert  within  and  I  abroad,  and  there  I 
searched  for  thee — deformed  I,  plunging  amid  those  fair 
forms  which  thou  hadst  made.  Thou  wert  with  me,  but 
I  was  not  with  thee.  Things  held  me  far  from  thee 
which  unless  they  are  in  thee  are  not  at  all.  Thou 
didst  call  and  shout,  and  burst  my  deafness.  Thou 
didst  flash  and  shine,  and  scatter  my  blindness.  Thou 
didst  breathe  odors,  and  I  drew  in  my  breath  and  pant 
for  thee.  I  tasted,  and  hunger  and  thirst.  Thou  didst 
touch  me,  and  I  burned  for  thy  peace." 


.104  READINGS  IN 


The  Confessw7ts,  in  which  this  passage  occurs,  were 
written  in  397,  and  contain  an  account  of  the  Hfe  of 
Augustine  to  the  time  of  his  mother's  death.  As  a 
revelation  of  the  thoughts  and  the  emotions  of  a  great 
soul  in  its  progress  through  sin  and  in  its  passage  from 
death  unto  life,  the  book  is  unique  in  literature.  No 
other  writer  has  so  thoroughly  and  so  fearlessly  laid 
bare  the  passions,  desires-,  conflicts  and  doubts  of  the 
heart,  and  this,  too,  in  language  which  unites  the  force 
and  plainness  of  prose  with  the  glow  and  imagery  of 
poetry.  Sympathy  and  devotion,  like  the  subtile,  per- 
meating aroma  rising  from  rosebushes  or  violet-banks, 
touch  the  soul  and  with  irresistible  suggestiveness  cause 
it  to  tfiink  of  the  tender  relations  which  are  created 
between  God  and  the  object  of  his  love.  The  charm 
of  the  picture  of  a  mother's  search  for  a  wayward  son 
and  of  God's  search  for  a  lost  life  can  never  pass  away. 
Full  of  rich  eloquence,  delightful  imagery,  delicate  spir- 
it-touches, scriptural  figures,  texts  and  thoughts,  strong 
individuality  and  child-like  resignation,  the  lines  of  Au- 
gustine not  only  display  a  heart  which  beats  with  the 
heart  of  man  in  all  ages,  but  are  also  expressions  of  the 
sublimest  hopes  and  the  deepest  emotions  of  the  universal 
soul.  Once  heard,  they  linger  as  echoes  which,  undy- 
ing, pass  along  the  heights  of  the  everlasting  hills,  and 
which  the  distance  of  time  makes  sweeter,  more  mellow 
and  more  to  be  desired. 

The  same  power  is  in  the  De  Civitate  Dei,  a  work 
begun  in  413  and  finished  about  426.  Despondency 
and  fear  had  fallen  upon  the  Empire ;  corruption  within 
and  barbarians  without  had  destroyed  its  strength  and 
broken   both    its   spirit   and   its    unity.      Men's    hearts 


ST.   MONICA   AND   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  205 

.,...^u  them  .IS  they  saw  the  passing  away  of  a  power 
which  they  had  thought  eternal  and  the  crushing  of  a 
civilization  which  they  had  deemed  perfect ;  they  anti- 
cipated woes  compared  with  which  the  evils  that  had 
pa'ssed  were  nothing.  The  river  was  gathering  strength 
and  swiftness  for  the  cataract :  a  short  while,  and  then 
the  end ;  but  in  the  smooth  waters  beyond  would  drift 
the  wreckage  of  the  labor  and  building  of  ages.  Against 
this  gloomy  despair  Augustine  set  all  his  energy;  he 
pointed  the  world  to  the  City  of  God  which  alone  is 
eternal  and  stable,  and  which  alone  is  the  hope  of  man. 
With  the  hand  of  a  master  he  traces  out  through  the 
ages  the  long  procession  of  the  Church,  the  incorrupti- 
ble body,  the  kingdom  in  which  Jehovah  reigns,  the  so- 
ciety in  which  are  gathered  just  men  whose  native  coun- 
try is  not  of  this  world,  but  "  eternal  in  the  heavens." 
He  shows  the  passing  away  of  earthly  principalities, 
dynasties  and  powers;  their  cities  and  the  glory  of 
them  become  as  dust  which  is  swept  by  wind  and 
stream  into  oblivion,  but  the  Church  abides  for  ever. 
"Most  glorious  City  of  God,"  he  writes,  ''whether 
through  the  course  of  the  ages,  whilst  living  by  faith, 
she  makes  pilgrimage  among  the  godless,  or  whether 
in  the  stability  of  that  eternal  dwelling  which  she  now 
patient  expects!"  Keen  is  the  irony  and  impetuous 
is  the  indignation  with  which  he  speaks  of  the  corrup- 
tions of  the  world.  Now  he  entreats,  and  now  he  threat- 
ens ;  at  times  his  eloquence  rises  to  sublimity,  and  both 
the  riches  of  learning  and  the  arts  of  rhetoric  are  used 
as  none  but  a  genius  could  use  them.  His  fervid  piety 
appears  in  every  page.  A  graphic  touch  in  this  Ime 
discloses  the  hollowness  of  life  and  the  folly  of  terres- 


206  /^£.1I?hVLr.^    .  V    CHURCH  HISTORY. 

trial  ambitions ;  another  rush  of  the  pen,  and  the  soul 
beholds  the  radiance  of  the  land  afar  off  and  the  eternal 
felicity  of  those  who  are  called  to  the  heavenly  citizen- 
ship. The  book  is  replete  with  Augustine's  favorite 
theological  conceptions  ;  it  is  a  contribution  to  the  phil- 
osophy of  history  and  to  the  literature  of  apologetics, 
but.  more  than  this,  it  is  the  expression  of  the  noblest 
thought  of  a  mind  which  among  men  is  almost  unique  in 
its  unity  of  beauty,  conception,  spirituality  and  wisdom. 
Many  of  the  doctrinal  positions  of  St.  Augustine  have 
'  been  disputed :  so  strong  a  character  could  not  avoid 
asserting  itself  in  vigorous  language  and  arousing 
vehement  antagonism.  He  held  the  most  rigid  view 
N  of  the  plenary  inspiration  of  the  Bible  and  indulged 
in  the  then  almost  universal  tendency  to  allegorical 
interpretation,  but  his  skill  in  reconciling  apparent  dis- 
crepancies is  second  only  to  his  power  of  drawing  out 
of  the  sacred  text  charming  illustrations  and  apt  appli- 
cations, while  his  expositions  of  Scripture  are  among  the 
choicest  treasures  of  the  Church.  Christologically  and 
ecclesiastically  he  was  m  complete  accord  with  catholic 
doctrine.  To  the  Creed  of  Nicaea  he  responded  with 
heart  and  mind,  and  to  the  Donatists,  who  questioned 
the  comprehensiveness  and  visibility  of  the  Church,  he 
set  forth  the  orthodox  belief  There  is,  said  he,  only 
one  Church— namely,  that  which  by  an  uninterrupted 
succession  can  be  traced  back  to  the  apostles.  It  is  the 
hallowed  ark  which  alone  floats  on  the  waters  of  the 
flood,  and  outside  of  its  walls  there  is  no  salvation.  Nor 
did  Augustine  hesitate  to  recommend  the  forcible  sup- 
pression of  those  who  thought  otherwise :  the  diffusion 
of  error  should  be  prevented  by  the  civil  power,  even 


\ 


6-7:   MONICA   AND   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  2OJ 

as  the  law  forbids  the  free  circulation  of  poison  and 
punishes  criminals.  In  anthropology  he  took  the 
ground  ."  man's  absolute  helplessness  and  stripped 
him  of  every  moral  power.  The  waif  of  earth  could 
neither  believe  nor  obey ;  a  leaf  in  the  wind  or  a  chip 
in  a  whirlpool  had  as  much  power  as  he  to  turn  to  God. 
His  sinfulness  was  unrelievably  black  and  inconceivably 
great,  and  without  prevenient  grace  he  was  certain  of 
continuing  in  eternal  wickedness.  The  exaggeration 
was  great,  but  the  further  assertion  that  grace  was 
given  only  to  a  designed  and  limited  number,  and  that 
none  but  they  would  be  saved,  surpassed  it  in  audacity ; 
yet  that  extreme  enabled  the  man  assured  by  his  own 
experience  of  the  reception  of  grace  to  see  in  bolder- 
outline  and  in  richer  coloring  the  splendor  of  God, 
and  to  do  deeds  regardless  of  results. 

In  vindication  of  his  teaching  Augustine  wrote  many 
treatises,  the  most  complete  and  systematic  of  which 
was  a  growth  of  nearly  thirty  years.  "  I  began,"  he 
says,  "as  a  very  young  man,  and  have  published  in  my 
old  age  some  books  concerning  the  Trinity."  His  great- 
est efforts  were  spent  in  the  controversy  with  Pelagius, 
who  first  ventured  into  the  practical  question  of  the  re- 
lationship between  divine  grace  and  human  free  will. 
Brought  up  from  childhood  in  the  peace  and  solitude 
of  a  distant  monastery,  this  heresiarch  had  known  no 
such  sins  and  had  passed  through  no  such  crises  as  had 
befallen  Augustine.  His  character  was  blameless  and 
his  life  simple  and  pure.  Nor  could  he,  in  the  inno- 
cence of  his  soul  and  the  kindliness  of  his  heart,  accept 
the  doctrine  of  the  total  and  universal  depravity  of  man. 
Of  the  world  he  had  no  experience ;  by  personal  wick- 


208  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

edness  he  had  never  realized  the  depths  of  human  cor- 
ruption; and  he  measured  his  fellows  simply  by  his 
own  unsullied  life.  Followers  he  had,  chief  among 
them  being  Coelestius  and  Julianus,  and  soon  their 
views  obtained  categorical  expression.  Briefly,  origi- 
nal sin  was  denied  and  the  natural  ability  of  man  to 
do  good  and  to  be  good  was  asserted.  From  so 
decided  a  contradiction  of  catholic  teaching  Augus- 
tine recoiled  with  horror  and  indignation.  His  experi- 
ence and  his  reading  of  holy  Scripture  convinced  him 
otherwise,  and  in  the  eagerness  of  his  soul  he  went  to 
the  farthest  possible  extreme.  He  had  felt  both  the 
power  of  sin  and  the  strength  of  grace.  Terrible  were 
^,he  days  in  which  God  had  crushed  him ;  glorious  was 
the  hour  in  which  he  had  given  him  healing  and  life. 
Hence,  denying  free  will,  he  sought  to  prove  God  to  be 
the  absolute  Controller  of  man  and  the  sole  Author  of 
his  salvation. 

Of  seed  cast  into  the  ground,  that  which  is  good 
alone  survives ;  and  the  Church  has  long  since  discov- 
ered the  vital  lines  of  St.  Augustine's  work.  These  she 
cherishes  as  priceless  in  worth  and  unquestionable  in 
authority,  but  the  harsh  and  exaggerated  theories,  like 
relics  which  have  lost  both  virtue  and  interest,  she 
passes  by  unheeded.  Yet  these  theories,  falling  like 
shadows  upon  the  heart-flows  which  make  the  Confes- 
sions so  attractive,  bring  out  the  man's  complex  nature. 
He  is  not  one  whose  character  can  be  expressed  in  a 
sentence  or  whose  soul  can  be  read  at  a  glance.  He  has 
both  the  gentleness  of  a  John  and  the  awfulness  of  an 
Elijah.  Now  his  words  are  like  the  soft  song  of  the 
swallow,   whispering   of   coming    summer  and    happy 


ST.   MONICA   AND   ST.   AUGUSTINE.  209 

woodlands ;  anon  they  have  the  ominous  cry  of  ravens. 
His  roses  are  thick  with  jagged  thorns  ;  his  sky  has 
spaces  of  deepest  azure  flanked  with  clouds  of  most 
threatening  aspect.  He  is  both  a  recluse  and  a  man 
of  the  world,  a  pastor  and  a  theologian,  a  tender  friend 
and  a  sharp  adversary,  a  blunt,  vigorous,  thoroughgoing 
prelate  with  the  heart  of  a  woman,  and  as  great  a  saint 
as  once  he  was  a  great  sinner.  Reading  his  books,  page 
follows  page  in  which  the  mind  wanders  as  in  a  garden ; 
rich  is  the  imagery,  lovely  are  the  thoughts,  fragrant, 
suggestive  and  precious  are  the  imaginations.  Every- 
where abound  the  flowers  of  wondrous  beauty  created 
by  a  master-hand.  In  the  spray  of  the  fountains  are 
sunbeams  and  in  the  air  are  murmurings  of  music  and 
aromatic  streams.  That  is  Augustine  in  his  gentler 
mood — if  not  in  his  truer,  yet  in  his  more  human,  self 
He  is  the  son  of  Monica,  his  spirit  touched  with  her 
grace  and  his  words  winsome  as  were  hers.  Then 
comes  the  inevitable  change — a  veritable  autumnal 
sweeping  of  the  landscape.  The  garden  vanishes  and 
a  mountain-peak  lifts  itself  to  lofty  heights.  Rugged 
and  bare,  cleft  and  bleached  with  furious  storms,  it  soars 
above  the  hills  around,  terrible  in  its  grandeur,  bewilder- 
ing in  its  distance  and  sublime  in  its  solitude.  Such  is 
Augustine  when  in  his  massive  intellectual  force  he  de- 
clares theories  which  chill  the  soul  and  perplex  the  mind. 
The  winds  sweep  down  from  the  towering  precipice,  and 
the  flowers  which  seemed  to  say  "  God  is  love "  fold 
their  leaves  and  shiver  to  death ;  yet — strange  paradox ! — 
that  very  height,  desolate  and  bleak,  is  the  first  to  catch 
the  morning  sunbeams  and  the  last  to  lose  the  glow  of 
the  evening  light. 

14 


2IO  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Augustine  has  given  no  record  of  his  episcopate  Hke 
that  of  his  Hfe  as  a  layman,  but  much  may  be  gathered 
from  his  letters,  sermons  and  books  to  show  his  dili- 
gence in  the  episcopal  office.  A  passage  in  a  discourse 
delivered  about  thirty  years  after  his  consecration  both 
illustrates  his  own  devotion  and  suggests  the  love  which 
existed  between  him  and  his  people.  "  I  have  not  pre- 
sumption enough,"  he  says,  "  to  imagine  that  I  have 
never  given  any  of  you  subject  of  complaint  against  me 
during  the  time  I  have  exercised  the  functions  of  the 
episcopacy.  If,  then,  overwhelmed  at  times  with  the 
cares  and  duties  of  my  office,  I  have  not  granted  audi- 
ence to  you  when  you  asked  it,  or  if  I  have  received 
you  with  an  air  of  coldness  or  abstraction ;  if  I  have 
ever  spoken  to  any  one  with  severity ;  if  by  anything 
whatever  in  my  answers  I  have  wounded  the  feelings  of 
the  afflicted  who  implored  my  succor ;  if,  occupied  with 
other  thoughts,  I  have  neglected  or  deferred  assisting 
the  poor  or  shown  by  any  displeasure  in  my  counte- 
nance that  I  deemed  them  too  importunate  in  their  solici- 
tations; lastly,  if  I  have  betrayed  too  much  acuteness 
of  feeling  with  respect  to  the  false  suspicions  that  some 
have  entertained  against  me ;  and  if,  through  the  weak- 
ness of  human  nature,  I  have  conceived  unjust  opinions 
of  others, — in  return  pardon  me,  O  my  people,  to  whom 
I  confess  all  faults — pardon  me  for  them,  I  conjure  you ; 
and  so  also  shall  you  obtain  the  pardon  of  your  sins." 

The  busy  and  earnest  life  ended  amid  the  sounds  of 
war.  In  428,  Genseric,  king  of  the  Vandals,  at  the  in- 
vitation of  Boniface,  governor  of  the  Roman  provinces 
of  Africa,  passed  from  Spain  into  Numidia.  When  Boni- 
face realized    the  remorseless  policy  of  the  barbarians 


ST.   MONICA   AND  ST.  AUGUSTINE.  211 

and  beheld  the  land  cast  into  unutterable  anguish,  he 
returned  to  his  allegiance  to  the  emperor  and  led  his 
army  against  the  invader.  Genseric,  however,  tightened 
his  grasp  upon  a  country  so  rich  and  so  fertile  :  to  give 
up  the  granary  of  the  world  was  beyond  his  power ;  and 
after  defeating  Boniface  in  the  field  he  shut  him  up  in 
the  city  of  Hippo,  whither  the  remains  of  the  Roman 
army  had  fled  for  refuge.  The  siege  began  in  June, 
430,  nor  was  capitulation  made  till  the  following  year. 
In  the  mean  time,  the  aged  Augustine  fell  sick.  As 
long  as  he  could  stand  he  continued  to  encourage  his 
countrymen,  but  the  infirmities  of  threescore  and  fifteen 
years  pressed  heavily  upon  him,  and  soon  came  the  fever 
of  death.  Possidius,  bishop  of  Calama,  and  for  forty 
years  one  of  Augustine's  dearest  friends  and  most 
devoted  allies,  was  constant  by  his  bedside.  At  the 
radiance  which  rested  on  the  face  of  the  saint  he  won- 
dered, and  thought  of  Stephen.  "  He  was  unable," 
Possidius  afterward  wrote,  "  to  restrain  his  desire  to  be 
with  his  Lord.  He  broke  forth  into  words  of  longing 
for  the  City  of  God.  It  was  a  plain  and  barely-fur- 
nished room  in  which  he  lay.  He  ordered  the  seven 
penitential  psalms  to  be  written  out  against  the  wall 
and  placed  where  he  could  see  them  as  he  lay  in  bed, 
and  these  he  looked  at  and  read  in  his  days  of  sickness, 
weeping  often  and  much.  And,  that  he  might  not  be 
restrained,  about  ten  days  before  his  death  he  asked  of 
us  who  were  present  that  no  one  should  come  in  except 
at  those  hours  when  the  physician  came  to  see  him  or 
when  refreshment  was  brought.  And  so  it  was  done  as 
he  wished,  and  he  had  all  that  time  for  prayer." 

The  August  days  drew  to  a  close ;  the  Vandals  still 


2 1 2  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HIS  TOR  Y. 

clamored  at  the  closed  portals  of  Hippo ;  but  for  Au- 
gustine were  thrown  open  the  gates  of  the  City  of  God. 
Conscious  to  the  last  and  uttering  words  of  penitence 
and  hope,  he  drew  near  to  the  threshold ;  then  he  passed 
into  the  light,  and  because  of  the  exceeding  and  ineffa- 
ble glory  men  saw  him  no  more. 

In  all  the  calendars  August  28,  the  day  of  Augus- 
tine's death,  is  the  day  of  his  commemoration.  When 
the  Vandals  took  the  city,  they  respected  his  remains  and 
preserved  his  library.  Nor  till  the  end  of  all  things  will 
his  memory  perish.  His  life  is  a  witness  to  the  power 
of  love  and  grace ;  his  words  have  opened  up  to  men 
the  way  into  realms  of  thought  and  fields  of  action 
where  humanity  has  been  made  beautiful  and  strong  in 
the  life  of  God.  The  opening  words  of  his  Confessions 
reveal  himself     Addressing  God,  he  says : 

"  Great  art  thou  ;  great  is  thy  power,  thy  wisdom  infi- 
nite, and  thee  would  man  praise,  though  but  a  particle 
of  thy  creation.  Thou  awakest  us  to  delight  in  thy 
praise,  for  thou  madest  us  for  thyself,  and  our  heart  is 
restless  till  it  rests  in  thee.  Narrow  is  the  measure  of 
my  soul :  enlarge  thou  it,  that  thou  mayest  enter  in. 
It  is  ruinous :  repair  thou  it." 


CHAPTER   VIII. 

Ei)t  3]3riti!e;ij  Eanir  anlr  (Bijurci^. 

The  navigators  and  traders  of  the  ancient  world 
were  the  dark-red  Phoenicians.  They  loosed  the  pine 
trees  from  the  hills  and  as  ships  sent  them  bounding 
through  unknown  waves.  Among  them  commerce  and 
art  flourished  before  the  men  of  the  ^gean  began 
their  work.  More  than  a  thousand  years  preceding  the 
Christian  era  their  colonies  were  scattered  about  the 
shores  of  the  Mediterranean — one,  at  least,  on  the  tide- 
washed  coast  of  Spain  beyond  the  Pillars  of  Heracles — 
and  their  ships  ventured  into  many  seas  and  brought  to 
Tyre  the  merchandise  of  many  lands.  Ezekiel,  writing 
640  B.  c,  mentions  tin  as  one  of  the  staples  of  their  vast 
commerce,  and,  while  it  is  possible  some  came  from 
Spain,  it  is  highly  probable  that  the  greater  quantity 
came  from  Britain.  Herodotus,  460  b.  c,  expressly 
speaks  of  the  Tin  Islands.  He  confesses  his  ignorance 
of  a  country  so  far  beyond  the  bounds  of  the  world, 
and  the  wary  Phoenicians  did  not  care  to  make  known 
their  fortunate  discovery  of  a  land  so  rich  as  Cornwall 
in  a  rare  and  precious  metal.  They  were  prudently 
silent  concerning  that  which  lay  within  the  mysterious 
Atlantic.  A  century  later,  ^yhen  the  supremacy  of  the 
Canaanites  had  for  ever  passed  away,  Aristotle  writes : 
"  Beyond  the  Pillars  of  Heracles  the  ocean  flows  round 

213 


214  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

the  earth ;  in  this  ocean,  however,  are  two  islands,  and 
those  very  large,  called  Britannic,  Albion  and  lerne." 
Posidonius,  320  B.  c,  states  that  tin  was  brought  from 
Britain  to  Massilia,  and  Polybius  in  250  B.  c.  wrote  a 
history  of  the  manufacture  and  trade  in  British  metals. 

These  are  the  earliest  historical  references  to  the  Inis 
Wen,  or  the  White  Island,  as  it  was  called  from  its  chalk 
cliffs.  Geology  and  archaeology,  however,  enable  us  to 
go  farther  back.  Ages — probably  millenniums — before 
Tyrian  set  his  sails  to  the  ocean-winds,  Britain,  in  com- 
mon with  the  whole  northern  hemisphere,  passed  through 
a  remarkable  crisis.  The  climate,  which  had  been  very 
warm,  gradually  cooled,  and  to  such  an  extent  that  the 
greater  part  of  Britain  was  buried  under  ice  and  snow. 
The  whole  of  Northern  Europe  became  ice-covered  as 
is  Central  Greenland  at  this  day.  Much  of  the  land  was 
also  depressed,  and  over  the  submerged  tracts  flowed 
the  cold  Arctic  waters  with  their  floating  icebergs.  It 
has  been  calculated  that  the  ice  in  Norway  became  six 
or  seven  thousand  feet  thick.  Where  once  tropical  life 
had  flourished  prevailed  the  flora  and  the  fauna  of  the 
polar  region.  Before  this  dreary  episode  came  on,  man 
lived  in  Britain,  and  there  are  remains  which  show  that 
he  made  his  home  in  caves  and  obtained  his  livelihood 
by  hunting  and  by  fishing.  Some  have  thought  that 
his  general  characteristics  were  similar  to  those  of  the 
Eskimo ;  others,  to  those  of  the  tribes  of  Central  Tar- 
tary.  An  advance  in  the  arts  is  indicated  by  the  relics 
of  implements  and  weapons  which  have  been  found. 
His  land  was  then  part  of  the  continent ;  the  St.  George's 
and  the  Bristol  channels  were  fertile  valleys  in  which  fed 
the  rhinoceros  and  the  mammoth,  and  whose  wilds  were 


THE   BRITISH  LAND  AND   CHURCH.  21 5 

the  home  of  the  Hon  and  the  wolf;  the  North  Sea  was 
a  wide  plain  across  which  flowed  the  Rhine,  and  in  its 
course  received  the  waters  of  the  Elbe,  the  Humber  and 
the  Thames ;  and  the  mountains  of  Wales  were  still  hot 
with  the  volcanic  fires  which  for  long  ages  had  fiercely 
raged  there. 

Whether  man  survived  the  terrible  ice-invasion  is  a 
question ;  but  when  it  had  passed  away  and  light  again 
breaks,  Britain  is  inhabited  by  a  race  in  what  is  known 
as  the  Stone  Age  of  civilization.  Their  arrow-heads 
and  their  spear-points  were  of  stone  and  shaped  with 
tools^f  stone.  The  geographical  outline  and  the  phys- 
ical life  of  the  country  were  then  much  as  at  present. 
The  people  were  swarthy,  slight  and  short — for  the 
most  part,  with  low,  shallow  skulls — and  are  possibly 
still  represented  by  the  Finns  and  the  Basques.  They 
lived  in  huts  or  wigwams  made  of  poles  and  wattled- 
work  and  thatched  with  rushes  or  covered  with  sods. 
A  hole  in  the  side  of  the  simple  structure  served  both  as 
a  chimney  for  the  smoke  and  as  a  door  for  the  inmates. 
The  men,  armed  with  bow  and  sharp  flint-headed  arrow, 
fearless  of  death  and  cruel  as  the  wolves  in  the  jungle- 
like woodland,  hunted  the  beasts  of  the  forest  or  lay  in 
wait  for  and  struggled  with  human  foes.  The  women, 
more  degraded,  worse  clothed  and  dirtier  than  they, 
urged  them  on  to  deeds  of  blood  and  gloated  over  their 
victories.  The  badly-tilled  soil  supplied  the  family  with 
roots,  cows  and  goats,  half  tamed  and  thriving  poorly  in 
captivity,  gave  them  milk,  and  the  forest  furnished  them 
with  fuel.  In  some  parts  of  the  country,  later  in  time, 
they  had  fixed  dwellings  and  stored  their  food — corn, 
nuts  and  roots.     The  presence  of  the  cat  suggests  the 


2l6  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

plague  of  rats  and  mice ;  in  fact,  bones  both  of  Puss  and 
of  her  prey  have  been  found. 

These  people  were  dispossessed — probably  six  or  seven 
centuries  before  Christ — at  the  immigration  of  the  Keltic 
branch  of  the  Aryan  race.  By  what  pressure  the  Kelts 
were  forced  to  leave  the  Continent  for  the  inhospitable 
shores  of  the  Atlantic  islands  we  know  not ;  but  when 
they  had  made  good  their  foothold  there,  the  process  of 
amalgamation  with  the  earlier  inhabitants  soon  began, 
though  for  centuries  many  of  the  latter  retained  their 
identity;  and,  indeed,  the  type  is  said  still  to  exist  in 
some  parts  of  England,  as  it  certainly  does  on  the  Con- 
tinent. Something  of  the  new  life  thus  introduced  may 
be  read  in  the  village-sites,  the  barrows  and  the  crom- 
lechs scattered  over  the  country. 

Legend  has  dealt  freely  with  those  times.  Accord- 
ing to  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  Britain  was  discovered 
and  named  in  the  year  1108  B.  c.  by  Brutus,  a  Trojan 
and  a  "  great-grandson  of  the  famous  ^neas,  who  was 
the  child  of  Venus  and  the  descendant  of  Jove."  The 
Scotch  fondly  ascribed  their  origin  to  Scota,  a  daughter 
of  an  Egyptian  Pharaoh,  the  Irish  had  their  Hibernus, 
and  the  Welsh  still  proudly  assert  that  they  are  of  the 
Kymry  who  were  led  by  Hugh  Cadarn  from  the  land  of 
summer,  in  far  South-eastern  Europe,  "through  the  hazy 
ocean  to  the  island  of  Britain  when  there  were  no  men 
alive  on  it,  nor  anything  else  but  wolves,  bears  and  oxen 
with  high  protuberances." 

Such  traditions,  though  truthless,  betoken  both  a  sense 
of  virtue  and  a  desire  for  antiquity.  They  who  invent 
them  know  the  value  of  age  and  recognize  qualities 
of  which  they  would  fain  believe  themselves  inheritors. 


THE   BRITISH  LAND  AND   CHURCH.  21/ 

Nor  were  the  early  Britons,  as  evolved  out  of  this  mix- 
ture of  race,  with  probably  an  influx  of  Phoenician  blood, 
altogether  unworthy  of  regard.  If  they  were  rude  and 
simple  and  had  not  acquired  the  habits  of  Greece  and 
of  Rome,  they  were  not  upon  the  low  level  of  the 
natives  of  the  Sandwich  Islands :  savages  do  not  work 
mines  nor  prepare  minerals  for  the  market.  Their  com- 
merce with  the  Phoenicians  implies  some  knowledge 
both  of  arts  and  of  social  economy.  From  the  deep 
pits  on  the  north  shore  of  the  Thames  chalk  was  ex- 
ported for  the  use  of  the  silversmiths  in  Rome  and 
of  the  farmers  in  Gaul.  In  time  Britain  became  the 
granary  of  the  empire,  and  oysters  from  the  shores  of 
the  Trinobantes  were  a  delicacy  with  imperial  epicures. 
Their  skill  was  also  shown  in  their  weapons  made  of 
mingled  copper  and  tin,  and  in  the  boats  of  osier  cov- 
ered with  bullocks'  hides  wherewith  they  crossed  the 
stormy  seas  around  their  island-home.  In  their  deal- 
ings they  were  reputed  to  be  plain  and  upright,  and 
they  used  for  money  brass  coins,  rings  and  plates  of 
iron.  They  had  long  hair  and  were  distinguished  from 
the  people  of  Southern  Europe  in  wearing  trousers  and 
in  staining  the  body  sky-blue.  In  war  they  were  fierce, 
brave  and  wary,  fighting  not  only  on  foot,  but  also  in 
chariots  to  the  axle-trees  of  which  were  attached  hooks 
and  scythes.  Their  houses,  built  of  wood  and  mud, 
consisted  of  one  room,  in  which  lived  and  slept  the 
man,  his  wife — or  his  wives,  as  the  case  might  be — his 
children  and  his  pets.  Among  his  pets  were  hens,  hares 
and  o-eese,  which  he  never  used  for  food.  With  his 
neighbors  he  united  in  a  small  village  community  every 
member  of  which  was  connected  with  him  by  blood. 


2l8  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

and  the  village-homes,  set  in  a  clearing  of  the  forest, 
were  fenced  around  with  trenches  and  trees  cut  down 
and  laid  crosswise.  The  woodlands  afforded  him  deer, 
wild  fruits  and  birds ;  sometimes  he  ate  the  bark  of 
trees,  and  from  the  rude  earth  he  gathered  barley  for 
his  ale  and  rye  for  his  bread.  The  grain  was  housed 
in  the  ear,  only  a  sufficient  quantity  for  the  day  being 
threshed  and  ground  at  a  time.  Though  the  rivers 
were  full  of  pike  and  of  eels  and  the  coasts  were  fre- 
quented by  seals  and  by  dolphins,  the  people  are  said 
not  to  have  eaten  fish.  The  mussels  along  the  seashore 
yielded  an  inferior  pearl ;  the  whelk,  a  rich  scarlet  dye. 
Communication  of  settlement  with  settlement  and  of 
tribe  with  tribe  there  must  have  been,  but  it  was  doubt- 
less difficult  owing  to  the  dense  forests,  the  unbridged 
rivers  and  the  extensive  fens  and  marshes.  The  picture 
suggested  by  such  facts  as  these  is  that  of  a  people 
rough  and  simple  indeed  because  cut  off  from  the  world 
of  higher  life  and  immured  in  a  wild  land,  yet  with  a 
civilization  not  altogether  the  extreme  opposite  of  that 
which  prevailed  in  more  favored  climes.  These  people 
and  this  island  in  time  were  to  be  added  by  the  Romans 
to  the  Empire  and  by  the  Christians  to  the  Church. 

The  nature  of  the  religion  of  the  ancient  Britons  is  not 
so  well  known  as  is  the  name :  for  the  Druids  as  well 
as  the  Phoenicians  were  silent  men,  and  their  beliefs 
and  their  mysteries  can  only  be  conjectured  by  the 
profane.  It  is  probable  that  they  were  largely  Nature- 
W9rshippers  with  some  affinity  to  the  mystical  relig- 
ions of  Asia.  Much  of  their  symbolism  seems  to  con- 
nect them  with  the  cultus  of  Astarte.  They  held  the 
doctrine  of  the  immortality  of  the  soul,  and  it  is  pos- 


THE  BRITISH  LAND  AND   CHURCH.  219 

sible  that  they  had  a  principal  Deity,  an  All-Father 
whose  symbol  on  earth  was  the  oak,  and  whose 
creature,  man — entirely  dependent  upon  the  Creator, 
and  yet  with  an  individual  existence — was  represented 
by  the  mistletoe.  Certainly  the  oak  was  regarded  with 
great  reverence ;  its  leaves  adorned  the  priests  and  en- 
tered into  every  rite,  and  the  ceremonies  observed  at 
the  gathering  of  the  all-healing  and  Heaven-sent  para- 
site were  elaborate  and  solemn.  On  the  sixth  day  of 
the  moon  a  priest  in  white  vestrnent  climbed  the  tree 
and  with  a  golden  pruning-knife  cut  off  the  mistletoe, 
which  fell  into  a  white  woollen  cloth  beneath.  Two 
white  bulls  were  then  sacrificed  and  the  plant  was  sol- 
emnly consecrated.  At  times,  it  is  said,  human  sacri- 
fices were  offered.  Charms  were  common,  especially 
the  ^%%  made  from  the  saliva  and  the  froth  of  serpents 
writhing  in  an  entangled  mass,  which  may  have  sym- 
bolized the  outcome  of  wrestling  wisdom  in  the  fact 
of  the  resurrection.  Magic  also  prevailed,  the  worship 
of  the  subordinate  gods  was  taught,  and  strange,  un- 
canny rites  were  performed  in  secret  glades  and  distant 
groves.  The  priesthood  is  said  to  have  been  divided 
into  three  orders — the  Druids,  the  bards  and  the  ovates 
— and  further  particulars  are  somewhat  speculatively 
advanced  concerning  them.  The  Druids  wore  a  white 
robe  in  token  of  holiness,  purity  and  truth.  Theirs 
was  the  sacerdotal  order ;  they  knew  the  mysteries  and 
offered  the  sacrifices.  The  bards,  who  were  the  poets, 
historians  and  genealogists,  were  robed  in  blue,  emble- 
matical of  peace.  The  ovates  professed  astronomy  and 
medicine,  and  garments  of  green,  the  color  of  the  cloth- 
ing of  nature  and  the  symbol  of  learning,  distinguished 


220  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

them.  The  disciples  of  these  orders  wore  variegated 
dresses  of  these  and  sometimes  other  colors,  and  served 
a  long  novitiate. 

The  bleak  and  barren  island  of  Mona,  now  Anglesea, 
was  for  long  the  sacred  Mecca  or  Rome  of  this  religion. 
In  the  solitude  of  rocky  wastes  swept  by  the  wild  winds 
of  an  ever-restless  sea,  on  the  remotest  edge  of  the  world 
and  far  away  from  shores  exposed  to  the  incursions  of 
strangers,  were  the  home  of  the  pontiff  and  the  great 
college  for  the  training  of  Druids.  There  was  centred 
the  whole  system;  there  were  imparted  the  secrets  and 
there  was  taught  the  skill  which  made  the  priest  great 
among  the  people  and  gave  him  a  power  which  at  times 
seemed  almost  limitless.  The  megalithic  remains  scat- 
tered over  Britain  and  the  neighboring  Brittany,  then 
closely  connected  with  the  great  island,  testify  to  the 
extension  and  the  grandeur  of  the  cult,  even  though 
one  may  question  the  alleged  completeness  of  its  organ- 
ization and  the  perfection  of  its  discipline.  Nor  is  the 
religious  mystery  the  only  one  connected  with  such 
places  as  Stonehenge,  Rowldrich  and  Botallek :  the 
mechanical  secret  is  also  unknown.  The  removal  of 
huge  stones  from  their  native  quarries  and  their  erection 
in  their  present  positions  suggest  a  knowledge  of  arts 
of  which  no  record  exists.  These  circles  are  among 
the  wonders  of  the  ancient  world.  They  exist  in  Brit- 
ain ;  they  are  also  found  near  Tyre,  in  Cappadocia  and 
in  the  land  of  Moab.  What  rites  were  celebrated  in 
these  temples,  open  to  the  winds  and  the  rains  of  heaven, 
we  know  not :  no  inscriptions  lie  beneath  the  gray  lichen- 
stains  to  help  us  in  finding  out.  In  the  graves  around 
the  sanctuary  the  dead  are  mostly  buried  in  a  crouching 


THE  BRITISH  LAND  AND   CHURCH.  221 

posture  and  with  weapons  and  trinkets,  sometimes — per- 
haps in  the  case  of  warriors — with  a  horse.  The  site 
selected  was  in  the  lone  wilderness,  on  the  bleak  hill- 
side, in  the  open  heath  or  in  the  deep  forest — a  place 
for  weird  mysteries  and  bewildering  emotions.  The 
lofty  menhir,  or  long  stone,  erected  near  the  temple  may 
have  served  as  a  pedestal  for  an  idol — perhaps  was  a 
symbol  of  the  worshipped  deity — or  as  a  guide  to  the 
people  as  they  wended  their  way  thither  across  the  moor 
or  through  the  valley.  Silence  now  abides  there,  but 
imagination  lingers  and  recalls  the  days  when  Roman 
burnt  incense  on  the  Capitoline  Hill,  and  Ephesian  wor- 
shipped the  great  Diana,  and  Druid,  in  oaken  garland 
and  snowy  vestment,  with  crescent  and  sceptre  and  ring, 
practised  his  magic  and  chanted  his  hymns  in  the  lone 
and  ghost-haunted  recesses  of  the  island  set  in  the  bor- 
der-sea between  heaven  and  earth. 

The  conquest  of  Britain  by  the  Romans  and  the  con- 
sequent introduction  of  the  Southern  paganism  no  doubt 
modified,  and  also  divided,  the  interest  of  the  old  relig- 
ion. Bravely  fought  the  islanders  against  the  Italian 
invaders.  Nor  was  the  effort  of  the  latter  successful 
for  nearly  a  century  and  a  half  On  the  one  side  were 
generals  such  as  Julius  Caesar,  Aulus  Plautius,  Vespa- 
sian, Ostorius  Scapula  and  Paulinus  Suetonius ;  on  the 
other,  princes  such  as  Cassivellaunus,  Cynobellinus  and 
Caractacus,  and  queens  such  as  Boadicea.  But  not  till 
A.'  D.  84  and  under  Cnaeus  Julius  Agricola  could  the 
island  be  claimed  as  part  of  the  Roman  Empire.  Then 
for  three  centuries  and  a  half  the  Caesar  ruled. 

The  Roman  occupation  of  the  island  was  almost  en- 
tirely military ;  there  were  Roman  residents  and  traders, 


222  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

but  there  were  few  Roman  colonists  or  settlers.  The 
land,  probably  divided  into  grants  to  men  both  foreign 
and  native-born  whose  allegiance  was  sure  or  whose  in- 
terest it  was  advisable  to  retain,  was  cultivated  by  the 
ancient  sons  of  the  soil,  who  were  either  slaves  or  small 
sub-holders  on  servile  tenure.  Every  villa  or  manor — 
as  the  house  of  the  lord  was  called — had  its  "  ergastu- 
lum,"  its  chamber  of  correction,  partly  underground, 
with  narrow  windows  high  and  out  of  reach,  where 
disobedient  slaves  were  confined  and  tormented.  Some 
authorities  held  that  the  cleverest  slaves  should  be  often- 
est  kept  in  irons,  and  others  said  that  they  should  be  in- 
cited to  quarrel  amongst  themselves  lest  they  should 
conspire  against  their  master.  It  was  also  thought 
cheaper  to  work  them  to  death  than  to  let  them  grow 
old  and  useless.  The  small  tenant-farmers  were  little 
better  off;  they  were  bound  to  perform  certain  services 
and  to  give  so  many  days'  work  for  the  benefit  of  the 
owner  of  the  land.  In  the  way  of  taxation  ingenuity 
did  its  utmost.  Corn-grounds,  plantations,  groves  and 
pasturages  were  assessed,  custom  duties  were  exacted, 
a  poll-tax  was  levied,  and  heavy  and  exorbitant  tributes 
went  into  the  imperial  treasuries.  The  land  and  the 
people  were  held  in  the  unflinching  grasp  of  a  military 
despotism. 

It  does  not  appear  to  have  been  the  policy  of  the  con- 
querors to  Romanize  Britain.  Other  lands  they  sought 
to  make  part  and  parcel  of  their  own  system,  so  that 
eventually  the  privileges  and  customs  which  were  com- 
mon to  the  city  were  extended  to  the  annexed  territory, 
but  from  first  to  last  Britain  was  an  outside  world  held 
only  for  profit's  sake  and  by  the  people  of  the  South 


THE   BRITISH  LAND  AND   CHURCH  223 

despised  for  its  inhospitable  climate  and  its  impenetrable 
wilds.  The  effort  seems  to  have  been  to  keep  the  tribes 
of  the  island  separate  and  at  variance  with  one  another. 
They  were  divided  in  the  days  of  Julius  Caesar ;  they 
were  divided  in  the  days  of  Honorius,  nearly  five  cen- 
turies later.  Unarmed  and  enslaved,  reduced  to  till  the 
ground  of  which  once  they  had  been  free  lords,  impov- 
erished by  unceasing  taxation  and  accustomed,  as  time 
went  on,  to  regard  the  Roman  as  their  ruler  and  their 
defender,  they  forgot  the  art  of  government  and  came 
wellnigh  losing  all  self-respect  and  all  desire  for  free- 
dom. 

The  marks  of  bondage  are  to  be  seen  in  the  great 
roads  and  military  stations  made  by  the  Romans.  Car- 
lisle, Lincoln,  Bath,  London,  Wroxeter  and  the  many 
Chesters  scattered  over  the  land  were  garrisoned  and 
fortified  centres.  At  London  an  embankment  was  made 
and  the  marshes  were  drained,  so  that  the  river  was  kept 
within  narrower  bounds ;  on  the  Saxon  shore  forts  were 
built ;  the  experiment  of  China  had  its  counterpart  on 
the  northern  borders  of  the  province ;  while  the  Foss- 
way,  Watling-street,  Ermine-street  and  the  Ikenild  were 
the  great  arteries  along  which  coursed  the  imperial 
legions,  and  by  which  were  conveyed  from  place  to 
place  the  produce  and  the  tribute  of  forest,  field  and 
mine.  Here  and  there  are  still  found  remains  of  Roman 
villas,  and,  though  chimneys  were  unknown  and  owing 
to  the  clouds  and  rain  the  atrium  and  the  barn  were  cov- 
ered over,  the  wealthier  inhabitants  burnt  coal  and  had 
glass  in  their  windows.  These  houses  were  largely 
built  of  stone  frequently  quarried  fifty  or  a  hundred 
miles  away.     The  towns  were  also  massively  and  dura- 


224  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

bly  constructed.  Of  the  huts  of  the  native  peasantry 
little  is  known,  but  they  had  far  less  in  common  with 
the  mansions  of  the  Roman  residents  than  to-day  the 
cottages  of  the  poor  have  with  the  houses  of  the  rich. 
The  social  gulf  was  at  this  time  probably  wider  than  it 
has  ever  since  been. 

The  time  and  the  manner  of  the  introduction  of 
Christianity  into  Britain  have  long  been  debated,  but 
this  is  certain — that  the  traditions  piously  and  zealous- 
ly handed  down  by  antiquaries  and  historians  of  an 
apostolic  origin  for  that  Christianity  not  only  are  with- 
out foundation,  but  are,  moreover,  palpable  efforts  at 
rivalry  with  older  churches.  The  dignity  of  age  had 
in  itself  sufficient  attraction  to  lead  men  to  repeat  as 
facts  the  suppositions  or  allusions  of  earlier  writers. 
Irenaeus,  about  176,  enumerates  the  churches  of  the 
West,  but  knows  of  none  in  Britain ;  nor  is  there  any 
evidence  whatever  to  show  that  Christianity  existed 
there  in  the  second  century.  The  attempts  to  prove 
an  apostolical  antiquity  are  indeed  desperate.  Not 
only  is  St.  Paul  said  to  have  been  the  first  preacher  of 
the  gospel,  but  St.  Peter,  St.  Simon  Zelotes,  St.  Philip, 
St.  James  the  Great  and  St.  John  are  also  severally  ac- 
credited with  the  same  work.  Aristobulus  is  likewise 
alleged  to  have  been  sent  thither,  while  a  myth  as  beau- 
tiful as  it  is  untrue  has  grown  around  Joseph  of  Arima- 
thea  and  his  mission  in  the  isle  of  Avalon.  These 
legends  were  either  unknown  or  considered  uncertain 
at  Rome,  for  in  the  fifth  or  sixth  century  another  story 
there  sprang  up  which  if  true  would  itself  imply  the 
falsity  of  those  associated  with  the  apostolic  age. 

About  the  year   180 — so   runs  the  legend — a  native 


THE  BRITISH  LAND  AND   CHURCH  22$ 

king,  Lucius,  sent  an  embassy  to  Eleutherus,  then  bish- 
op of  Rome,  desiring  him  to  send  teachers  that  he  and 
his  people  might  be  instructed  in  the  Christian  faith. 
This  is  the  germ  of  the  story ;  as  time  went  on  it  was 
embellished.  The  year  is  that  in  which  the  golden  reign 
of  Marcus  Aurelius  came  to  an  end  and  the  weak  and 
heartless  Commodus  received  the  purple.  In  Rome  the 
outbreak  of  political  and  moral  corruption  was  speedy 
and  vehement.  The  emperor  steeped  his  soul  in  vice 
and  stained  his  hands  with  blood ;  pestilence  and  famine 
spread  disaffection  among  the  populace,  and  in  Britain 
there  was  nothing  but  war  and  sedition.  The  feelings 
of  the  Britons  toward  their  conquerors  were  never  cor- 
dial, and,  while  Rome  sometimes  recognized  native 
princes,  yet  at  this  time  she  had  little  sympathy  with 
Christianity  and  would  scarcely  allow  an  illegal  religion 
to  be  brought  into  a  military  jurisdiction.  Nor  may  the 
suspicion  be  altogether  unfounded  of  an  endeavor  to 
support  the  growing  claims  of  the  papacy.  Certainly 
the  story  was  not  heard  of  until  three  ceaturies  after  the 
time  of  Eleutherus,  nor  did  it  obtain  its  full  form  for 
another  seven  hundred  years.  Its  value  must  be  taken 
accordingly. 

We  have,  indeed,  no  trustworthy  testimony  that  Chris- 
tianity had  made  any  appreciable  advance  in  Britain  till 
toward  the  end  of  the  third  century,  and  it  was  doubt- 
less long  after  that  before  the  old  paganism  found  in  it 
a  formidable  opponent.  With  the  dawn  of  the  fourth 
century  the  Church  in  Britain  comes  to  light;  from  that 
time  on  it  slowly  advances — probably  more  among  the 
Roman  residents  than  among  the  native  pagans — never, 
indeed,  to  occupy  a  high  position  or  to  do  a  great  work, 

15 


226  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

but  still  living  its  little  fitful  life,  till  at  last  it  was  extin- 
guished and  passed  away  for  ever  in  the  more  brilliant 
Church  of  a  sturdier  race.  It  had  its  bishops.  Some 
of  them  were  present  at  the  Council  of  Aries  in  314; 
others  may  have  been  at  Nicaea  in  325  and  at  Sardica  in 
347,  and  others,  again,  at  Ariminum  in  359.  Tradition 
asserts  the  existence  of  three  metropolitan  sees,  York, 
London  and  Caerleon ;  certainly  in  the  course  of  this 
century  the  country  had  its  churches,  altars,  scripture 
and  discipline,  and  had  declared  its  adherence  to  the 
Catholic  faith  as  set  forth  at  Nicaea.  Britain  had  also 
its  martyr,  if  we  may  accept  the  story  of  St.  Alban. 
This  martyr  died  about  303 — according  to  one  author- 
ity, in  283 — and  is  said  to  have  been  converted  to  the 
cross  by  observing  the  piety  of  a  fugitive  Christian  to 
whom  he  had  given  shelter.  His  zeal  was  as  fervent 
as  it  was  sudden.  He  refused  both  to  give  up  his  new- 
ly-found friend  and  to  sacrifice  to  the  gods.  The  sentence 
of  death  was  pronounced  upon  him,  and  the  penalty  was 
carried  out,  though  on  the  way  to  the  place  of  martyr- 
dom he  made  a  path  through  the  river,  converted  the 
executioner  and  caused  a  spring  of  water  to  burst  from 
the  top  of  a  hill.  Nor  were  the  persecutors  stayed  from 
beheading  the  changed  executioner  because  the  eyes  of 
the  man  who  took  his  office  fell  to  the  ground  at  the 
same  moment  as  St.  Alban's  head.  The  earliest  evi- 
dence extant  of  the  martyrdom  is  about  a  hundred  and 
twenty-five  years  after ;  the  coloring  is  given  by  Bede, 
three  hundred  years  later  still ;  but  for  centuries  pilgrim- 
ages were  made  to  Verulam,  and  the  church  in  whjch  it 
is  said  are  the  remains  of  the  saint  is  now  the  cathedral 
of  an  Anglican  bishop. 


THE  BRITISH  LAND  AND   CHURCH.  22/ 

A  century  subsequent  to  this  alleged  martyrdom  the 
British  Church  lapsed  into  heresy.  Pelagius  was  sup- 
posed by  his  contemporaries  to  have  been  a  Briton,  and 
early  tradition  declared  that  his  name  was  Morgan,  that 
he  came  from  Bangor,  in  North  Wales,  and  that  he  was 
a  layman.  Though  this  may  have  been  said  in  dispar- 
agement of  the  famous  antagonist  of  total  depravity  and 
predestination,  yet  the  people  of  his  reputed  land  adopted 
his  views  with  avidity.  The  intellectual  and  the  theolog- 
ical poverty  of  the  island-Church  is  shown  by  the  bish- 
ops sending  to  Gaul  for  some  divines  to  counteract  the 
heresy.  About  429,  Germanus  of  Auxerre  and  Lupus 
of  Troyes  began  their  work,  and  so  eloquent  was  their 
preaching  and  so  many  were  their  miracles  that  the 
erring  Church  was  soon  brought  back  to  the  orthodox 
faith.     Cornwall  still  remembers  the  former  saint. 

Some  effort  was  made  in  the  same  century  for  the 
evangelization  of  Ireland  and  of  Scotland — parts  out- 
side of  the  Roman  province  of  Britain.  The  work  of 
St.  Patrick  in  the  former  country  and  of  St.  Ninian 
in  the  latter  can  never  be  forgotten.  The  monastery 
at  Whithern  became  a  centre  of  religious  light  and 
strength  for  many  a  day,  and  on  the  extreme  bounds 
of  Europe  sprang  up  a  Church  which  for  its  spiritual 
heroes,  missionary  zeal,  self-denial  and  independence 
is  deserving  of  the  highest  praise.  But  the  Church  to 
the  south — commonly  known  as  the  British  Church — 
seems  to  have  dwindled  into  a  state  where  even  heresy 
was  impossible  and  aggression  was  unknown. 

Strong  as  had  been  the  hold  of  Rome  on  Britain,  ex- 
tensive as  had  been  its  occupation,  the  day  was  now  near 
at  hand  when  the  island  would  have  to  be  given  up. 


228  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

The  strength  was  rapidly  passing  away  which  had  won 
a  world  spreading  from  the  Euphrates  to  the  Atlantic 
and  from  the  sun-burnt  deserts  of  Africa  to  the  bleak 
hills  of  Caledonia.  Naw  was  Britain  woefully  distressed 
with  the  incursions  of  savage  tribes.  Along  the  eastern 
and  southern  shores  ravaged  the  Scandinavian  and  Saxon 
pirates;  the  Scots,  passing  over  in  boats  from  Ireland, 
invaded  the  west,  and  the  Picts  from  the  north  defied 
the  ditches  and  the  walls  of  Severus.  Rome  needed 
her  soldiers  on  more  important  frontiers,  and  was  there- 
fore able  to  make  but  a  feeble  and  temporary  resistance. 
In  403  the  huge  Roman  fabric,  the  growth  of  more  than 
a  millennium,  again  gave  signs  of  breaking  asunder. 
The  Goth  was  at  the  gates  of  Rome;  Italy  was  rav- 
aged, Dacia  overrun  and  Africa  separated.  The  timid 
and  languid  Honorius  withdrew  most  of  the  army  from 
Britain,  and  after  a  vain  endeavor  to  maintain  his  rights 
and  to  administer  law  there  was  obliged,  about  420,  to 
take  away  the  last  remnant  of  his  soldiery.  Britain  was 
irrecoverably  lost;  the  reign  of  the  Caesars  there  had 
come  to  an  end,  and  the  island  was  now  and  for  ever 
outside  of  the  Roman  world. 

The  influence  of  Rome  on  Britain  must  have  been 
considerable,  but  Britain  never  became  Roman  to  the 
same  extent  as  did  Gaul  and  the  subject-lands  around 
the  Mediterranean.  The  laws,  customs,  language,  relig- 
ion, dress  and  architecture  of  the  stronger  civilization 
would  naturally  make  themselves  felt.  Possibly  some 
features  in  the  holding  of  land  remain  to  this  day,  and 
folklorists  have  sought  to  trace  some  connection  between 
old  Roman  customs  and  certain  modern  observances  be- 
longing to  weddings  and  funerals,  to  the  May-day  and 


THE   BRITISH  LAND  AND    CHURCH.  22g 

parochial  perambulations.  But  the  national  character- 
istics and  the  native  tastes  of  the  Britons  were  not 
destroyed.  When  left  to  themselves,  the  people  speed- 
ily v/ent  back  to  their  tribal  life,  and,  rather  than  hold- 
ing together,  weakened  themselves  by  petty  jealousies 
and  sanguinary  struggles.  Possibly  even  the  new  and 
never-strong  Christianity  began  to  lapse  into  the  old 
Druidism.  Energy  was  destroyed ;  the  forests  grew 
and  the  marshes  widened  their  borders ;  fields  were  left 
untilled  and  mines  untouched;  the  highways  were  neg- 
lected and  the  walls  suffered  to  fall  into  ruins ;  and  it 
was  left  to  a  race  neither  British  nor  Roman  to  make 
the  land  of  chalk-cliffs  into  the  land  of  sea-kings  and 
world-rulers — the  country  of  Phoenician  traders  into  the 
centre  of  the  earth's  commerce  and  the  producer  of  the 
earth's  wealth. 


CHAPTER    IX. 

Ei)t  Olonberision  of  (ffinglanir. 

The  withdrawal  of  the  Romans  from  Britain,  and  the 
consequent  weakness  of  the  native  population,  gave  a 
clear  opportunity  of  ravage  to  the  pirates  and  marau- 
ders of  the  North  Sea.  These  ocean-scourers  had  their 
home  on  the  low  plains  near  the  Elbe,  the  Weser  and 
the  Eyder  and  in  the  fiords  and  mountains  of  Norway. 
They  were  divided  into  tribes  known  as  Jutes,  Angles, 
Saxons  and  Danes,  and  were  of  the  same  parent-stock 
as  the  Kimmerian  and  Keltic  races  which  had  so  long 
occupied  the  West  of  Europe,  but  of  a  later  emigration 
and  from  long  ages  of  separation  of  widely-differing  cha- 
racteristics. It  is  probable  that  the  family  from  which 
they  were  more  immediately  derived  made  their  first 
appearance  in  Europe  in  the  sixth  or  seventh  century 
before  the  Christian  era,  and  by  that  restless  energy 
which  had  impelled  them  to  leave  their  home  in  the 
valleys  of  distant  India,  and  age  by  age  to  make  their 
way  through  wide  and  unknown  lands,  disregarding 
the  barriers  of  desert  or  river,  of  sea  or  mountain,  and 
driving  before  them  such  earlier  settlers  as  might  oppose 
their  progress,  were  led  on  till  they  reached  the  shores 
and  the  islands  of  the  wild  North  Sea.  They  who  stayed 
in  the  lowlands  between  our  modern  Denmark  and  Bel- 
gium found  themselves  in  a  region  exposed  to  the  cold 

230 


THE    CONVERSION  OF  ENGLAND.  23 1 

and  stormy  winds  and  except  for  an  occasional  dune  of 
drifted  sand  liable  to  the  encroachment  and  inundation  of 
the  sea.  The  climate  was  wet  and  inhospitable.  Scarcely 
had  the  summer  stilled  the  spring  gales  and  given  life 
and  verdure  to  the  dark  woods  and  the  sea-girt  meadows 
when  it  was  shortened  by  the  fogs  and  the  desolation  of 
autumn,  prelude  to  the  long,  dismal  and  lonesome  winter. 
The  inaccessibility  of  the  country  protected  it  from  the 
arms  of  the  Roman  ;  so  that  the  land  of  the  Saxon  never 
passed  under  the  imperial  rule,  and  the  worthlessness  of  a 
large  portion  of  it  was  conducive  to  liberty  and  warfare. 
This  dreary  corner  of  the  earth  was  at  once  the  cra- 
dle of  the  world's  freedom  and  the  refuge  of  the  fiercest 
and  boldest  of  the  world's  pirates.  Inured  by  hard- 
ship and  privation,  they  proved  their  prowess  and  their 
ferocity  on  every  shore;  they  pillaged,  burnt  and  de- 
stroyed whatever  came  in  their  way;  of  mercy  they 
knew  little — of  cowardice,  still  less ;  and  so  dauntless 
were  they  that  they  stayed  not  even  at  the  lines  of  the 
Roman  province  of  Britain.  Many  a  barque  in  the  Sep- 
tember days  turned  its  prow  toward  the  Saxon  land 
laden  with  newly-gathered  corn,  choice  fruits,  treasures 
of  gold  and  garments,  cattle  and  captives  from  the  store- 
houses, villas  and  farms  along  the  eastern  shores  of  the 
great  island.  When  the  winter  came,  the  sea-robbers 
would  drive  away  the  lingering  ague  and  brighten  the 
dreary  eventide  with  wine  of  rare  and  distant  vintage 
and  with  tales  of  chilling  horror  and  of  wondrous  cour- 
age. But,  though  they  gloried  in  deeds  of  plunder  and 
of  blood,  they  had  nobler  traits  and  loftier  thoughts. 
Of  women  and  children  they  were  considerate ;  by  the 
sense  of  justice,  fair  play  and  honor,  not  altogether  unin- 


232  JREADINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

fluenced ;  and  if  in  their  practical,  blunt*,  coarse  life  poe- 
try and  art  were  lost,  they  were  loyal  to  religion  and 
devoted  to  freedom.  They  would  be  as  unrestrained  as 
were  the  winds  which  carried  their  white-winged  ships 
across  the  sea,  and  as  fearless  as  was  the  gull  which 
faces  the  tempest  or  floats  upon  the  billow. 

It  was,  indeed,  upon  the  sea  that  their  spirit  reached 
its  highest  manifestation.  A  century  before  Rome  gave 
up  Britain  she  was  forced  to  take  measures  against  these 
formidable  adventurers.  The  government  stationed  a 
fleet  at  Boulogne  under  Carausius  to  watch,  and,  if  pos- 
sible, to  suppress,  the  sea-rovers  ;  unfortunately,  the  wily 
Menapian  united  with  the  foe  and  by  their  aid  held  Brit- 
ain for  some  time  in  revolt.  From  him  they  learned  a 
surer  navigation  and  the  art  of  naval  combat.  Their 
shallow,  flat-bottomed  vessels  were  framed  of  light  tim- 
ber with  the  sides  and  upper  works  of  wicker  covered 
with  strong  hides ;  nor  did  they  hesitate  in  such  frail 
craft  to  brave  the  perils  of  the  deep  or  to"  proceed  up 
the  waters  of  great  and  unknown  rivers.  Later  they 
had  cheoles,  or  war-keels,  of  greater  size  and  stronger 
build,  long,  heavy  and  high,  such  as  that  discovered  a  few 
years  since  at  Gogstad,  in  Norway,  which  measured  sev- 
enty-four feet  from  stem  to  stern,  was  sixteen  feet  broad 
amidships,  drew  five  feet  of  water  and  had  twenty  ribs. 
All  their  contemporaries  speak  of  the  love  of  these 
tribes  for  the  sea.  Joy  came  to  them  in  the  tempest ; 
protection,  in  the  storm.  Even  Rome  readily  acknow- 
ledged the  prowess  of  the  rude  masters  of  the  main. 

And  now  these  seafarers  came  to  the  shores  of  Britain 
— not  so  much  to  rob  granaries  as  to  acquire  land  and 
to  found  colonies.     In  small  bands  they  disembarked — 


THE    CONVERSION   OF  ENGLAND.  233 

some  in  the  South,  some  in  the  East  and  some  in  the 
North — not  by  any  preconcerted  unity  of  action  or  at 
any  one  time,  but  according  to  the  independent  will  or 
whim  of  the  tribe  or  family.  There  was  no  one  general 
invasion,  but  a  constant  succession  of  emigrations,  each 
working  its  own  way,  fighting  its  own  battles  and  mak- 
ing secure  its  own  foothold.  Long  centuries  were  to 
pass  before  these  isolated  colonies"  would  be  brought 
together  into  a  confederation  of  kingdoms  and  finally 
welded  into  one  firm  and  compact  realm.  In  vain  did 
the  Britons  struggle  against  them :  the  fierce  Saxon 
rarely  lost  a  battle  and  never  let  go  his  grip.  Little  by 
little  the  natives  were  either  reduced  to  slavery,  killed  in 
war  or  driven  to  the  mountain-fastnesses  of  the  West, 
while  the  invaders,  caring  little  either  for  Roman  civil- 
ization or  for  British  art,  simply  swept  the  land  of  both. 
Between  the  two  races  there  was  no  touch  of  sympathy ; 
they  had  neither  speech,  traditions  nor  religion  in  com- 
mon, and  therefore  on  the  one  side  was  naught  but  con- 
tempt and  on  the  other  naught  but  hatred.  In  the 
course  of  fifteen  decades  the  conquerors  proved  them- 
selves to  be  as  good  farmers  as  they  had  been  pirates 
— as  able  to  till  the  soil  as  they  had  been  to  plough  the 
sea.  They  built  towns,  made  roads,  established  settle- 
ments and  founded  kingdoms.  By  A.  D.  600  the  whole 
eastern  half  of  the  island,  from  the  Firth  of  Forth  to  the 
Isle  of  Wight,  and  from  the  hills  of  Devon,  the  river  Sev- 
ern and  the  Cumbrian  mountains  to  the  sea,  was  in  their 
hands.  Of  their  kingdoms,  Mercia  stretched  from  the 
mountains  of  Wales  to  the  fens  of  Cambridge  and  from 
the  Humber  to  the  Thames ;  Northumbria  lay  beyond  the 
former  river  and  Wessex  to  the  south  of  the  latter:  An- 


234  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

glia  was  to  the  east  of  the  fens ;  and  Kent  occupied  the 
region  covered  by  the  modern  county  of  the  same  name. 
Each  governed  itself,  and  each,  with  varying  success, 
sought  supremacy  over  its  neighbor  ;  so  that  the  number 
and  the  boundaries  of  the  kingdoms  were  continually 
changing.  At  this  time  the  Scots  held  Ireland  and  Ar- 
gyle,  and  the  Picts  what  are  now  called  the  Highlands  of 
Scotland.  In  Strathclyde,  Cumbria,  Wales  and  Corn- 
wall the  Briton  kept  his  own,  cherishing  the  bitterest 
feelings  against  the  enemy  which  had  driven  him  away 
and  had  occupied  his  land,  brooding  over  the  difference 
between  Roman  policy  which  merely  made  subjects 
and  English  policy  which  shaved  the  face  of  the  earth, 
and  ever  ready  to  slip  through  the  passes  or  cross  the 
fords  and  to  burn  Saxon  farms  and  murder  Saxon 
women. 

The  religion  of  these  English  tribes  differed  from  the 
religions  of  pagan  Britain  and  Rome  in  almost  everything 
except  that  it  was  essentially  a  nature-cult.  As  their  cli- 
mate was  sterner  and  their  habits  were  severer,  so  were 
their  deities  of  a  harsher  and  more  terrible  type  than 
those  of  Southern  and  Western  Europe.  They  made 
obeisance  to  the  sun  and  the  moon  and  worshipped  the 
god  whose  chariot-wheels  were  heard  in  the  rolling 
thunder  and  the  roaring  storm.  They  loved  the  lord 
whose  spear  reeked  with  gore  and  whose  face  was  cut 
with  sea-foam.  Their  heaven  was  a  Valhalla  of  heroes 
who  had  won  immortality  by  deeds  of  valor  and  of 
blood ;  their  hell,  a  pit  for  cowards  and  for  traitors. 
Their  legends  were  those  of  sanguinary  warriors,  of 
thirstful  giants,  of  dragons,  serpents  and  demons,  and  of 
remorseless,  all-conquering,  wolf-like  chiefs.    They  were 


THE   CONVERSION  OF  ENGLAND.  235 

superstitious,  believing  in  charms,  dreams,  wizards  and 
ghosts.  The  graces  and  the  poetry  of  a  gentler  pagan- 
ism were  absent ;  they  ate  and  drank  grossly,  and  their 
cruel  and  excitable  passions  when  in  full  play  knew  no 
restraints  either  of  manly  virtue  or  of  pity  for  the  help- 
less. Only  in  this  impetuous  fury  and  this  maddened 
carnage  did  they  feel  themselves  akin  to  Odin  and  Thor 
and  worthy  to  drink  of  the  skull-bowl  of  blood. 

Doubtless  the  peaceful  occupation  of  farming  and  a 
life  in  a  more  genial  climate  greatly  softened  this  dark 
type  of  paganism,  but  the  degraded  superstition  and 
the  debased  moral  life  remained.  The  brave-hearted 
but  ignorant  Englishman  could  still  fight  with  Briton 
to  the  fatal  end,  but  his  spirit  quailed  within  him  as  he 
heard  the  moan  of  the  demon  in  the  forest  and  thought 
of  the  sick-dealing  elf  of  the  swamp.  By  the  sacred 
well  he  besought  the  god  of  the  water-springs  not  to 
harm  him ;  in  the  lone  glen  he  made  his  incantations 
that  the  uncanny  powers  might  be  rendered  helpless ; 
he  offered  sacrifices  beside  the  graves  of  his  ancestors 
and  listened  with  awe  to  the  weird  chants  and  oracular 
•utterances  of  his  priests.  Of  sin  as  the  Christian  under- 
stands sin  he  knew  next  to  nothing,  while  his  soul  was 
dull  and  joyless  as  are  the  very  clouds  which  hide  the 
autumnal  sky.  Selfishness,  fear  and  aggression  made 
him  miserable  and  suspicious.  He  was  persevering, 
courageous  and  constant;  he  was  also  brave  as  the 
wolf  is  brave,  shrewd  as  the  fox  is  shrewd,  and  at 
heart  dark  as  is  the  flesh  of  swan.  Such  was  the  crea- 
tion of  paganism. 

And  yet  there  are  times  when  out  of  that  paganism 
springs  a  nobler  note.     It  is  probable  that  among  his 


236  READINGS  IN  CIIUKCH  HISTORY. 

deities  the  heathen  had  a  conception  of  one  God  who 
was  supreme,  the  All-Father  and  the  just  and  good  ;  and 
the  myth  of  Baldur,  though  more  Norse  than  Saxon 
and  in  its  development  and  poetry  more  modern  than 
the  seventh  century,  is  possibly  an  outcome  and  an  exam- 
ple of  some  of  the  older  and  kindlier  legends.  The  story 
runs  somewhat  thus :  Baldur,  the  white  god,  whose 
face  shone  with  splendor,  whose  brow  was  pure  as  the 
sunlight  and  whose  soul  was  gentle  and  good  though 
brave  and  warlike,  was  the  beloved  son  of  Odin  and  the 
favorite  both  of  Valhalla  and  of  earth.  His  wife  was  the 
virtuous  and  beautiful  Nanna.  It  was  foretold  at  his 
birth  that  unless  all  created  objects  made  oath  not  to 
injure  him  he  should  die  as  mortals  die;  therefore  Nan- 
na came  to  earth  to  win  from  the  things  which  made  up 
the  earth  a  promise  that  none  would  harm  him.  But,  as 
ho  god  even  is  safe  from  envy,  neither  was  Baldur.  The 
evil-minded  Utgard  Loki  also  came  to  earth ;  and  when 
Nanna  in  her  progress  passed  by  the  oak,  he  in  the 
shape  of  a  white  crow  sat  upon  a  bough  of  mistletoe,  so 
that  she  overlooked  it  and  did  not  exact  its  pledge. 
Ever  since,  crows  have  been  black,  even  as  the  silver* 
hued  raven  with  snow-white  feathers,  according  to  clas- 
sical mythology,  for  its  garrulity  was  likewise  changed 
into  the  same  sombre  color.  Loki  then  made  an  arrow 
of  this  branch  of  mistletoe,  and  one  day,  in  heaven,  when 
the  gods  were  playfully  discharging  their  weapons  at 
Baldur,  he  placed  his  shaft  in  the  bow  of  the  blind  god 
Hoder.  The  bow  was  drawn,  and  the  arrow  sped ;  it 
struck  Baldur  as  he  stood  against  a  bush.  He  fell.  The 
bush  was  the  holly,  which  can  never  fade,  and  which 
still  bears  the  red   drops   of  Baldur's  blood.      So  the 


THE    CONVERSION  OF  ENGLAND.  237 

blood  of  Pyramus,  soaking  through  the  ground  into  the 
roots  of  the  mulberry  tree,  changed  the  snowy  fruit  into 
a  purple  hue,  to  be  darkened,  when  Thisbe  should  die, 
to  coal-black.  The  goddess  of  the  nether  realm,  Hela, 
now  comes  to  claim  him  as  her  own,  nor  will  she  give 
up  her  right  except  upon  condition  that  all  created  things 
agree  to  weep  for  him.  So  again  Nanna  descends  to  earth, 
bearing  the  fatal  arrow  on  which  to  gather  the  tears  of 
all  Nature :  which  tears  may  still  be  seen  in  the  berries 
of  the  mistletoe.  But  Utgard  Loki  again  hides  from  her 
a  tiny  white  flower  which,  though  as  she  passed  by  it 
cried  "  Forget-me-not  "  and  turned  blue  from  disappoint- 
ment, was  the  cause  of  Baldur  having  to  go  into  the 
dark,  yew-shaded  land  of  Hela.  However,  Odin  pre- 
vails upon  the  queen  of  the  black  fog  to  release  him  for 
six  months  in  every  year.  When  the  time  comes  for  him 
to  depart,  the  heavens  weep,  the  birds  are  silent,  the 
streams  sob,  the  flowers  droop  and  the  trees  drop  their 
leaves ;  when  he  returns,  the  sky  is  bright  with  glory, 
the  woodlands  are  gay  with  song  and  the  buds  display 
their  verdure  and  the  blossoms  their  delights. 

Such  is  a  Northern  Nature-myth — perhaps  too  elabo- 
rate for  a  time  so  early  as  that  with  which  we  are  now  con- 
cerned and  too  full  of  classical  touches  to  be  entirely  origi- 
nal, but  possibly  not  altogether  unlike  some  of  the  con- 
ceptions which  were  shaped  in  the  minds  of  a  part  of  the 
nobler  and  more  thoughtful  of  the  pagans.  For  the 
wild  flora  of  the  new  land  in  which  the  English  were 
now  established  was  not  unlike  the  wild  flora  of  the 
present  England;  and  even  as  Greeks  wondered  why 
roses  were  red  and  hyacinths  blue,  so  the  Northerner, 
colder  in  imagination  though  he  was,  may  have  sought 


238  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORi. 

to  find  out  the  secret  of  the  violet  and  the  daisy,  of  the 
acorn- bloom  and  the  ashen-keys.  If  the  cry  of  the 
bittern  and  the  pipe  of  the  swan  attracted  him,  had  he 
no  ear  for  the  music  of  the  nightingale  or  the  song  of 
the  thrush  ?  But,  so  far  as  the  masses  were  concerned, 
such  stories  had  neither  interest  nor  meaning.  Refine- 
ment scarcely  follows  the  plough,  and  poetry  hardly 
belongs  to  the  hewer  of  trees,  the  keeper  of  swine  and 
the  hunter  of  wolves  and  of  thieves.  They  lay  beneath 
the  weight  of  the  grossest  things  of  heathenism ;  they 
were  of  the  earth,  earthy ;  and  the  sun  spoke  to  them 
only  of  barley  and  mast,  of  light  and  heat,  and  not  of 
mystic  truths  of  hope,  heaven,  immortality  and  joy. 

To  these  people  Christianity  was  practically  unknown. 
Wide  as  the  Church  had  extended  her  borders,  she 
had  not  yet  reached  Germany  or  Scandinavia,  and  no 
attempt  had  been  made  to  bring  the  pirates  of  the  North 
Sea  and  the  settlers  of  England  under  the  influence  of 
the  cross.  Nor  did  the  British  Church  do  more  than 
sullenly  abide  within  the  mountain-retreats  of  the  West ; 
not  one  step  did  it  take  toward  the  evangelization  of  the 
pagan  conquerors.  No  missionary  entered  the  land  to 
uplift  the  Christ  among  the  rude  followers  of  Odin  and 
Thor — partly,  on  the  one  side,  because  of  the  fierce,  im- 
potent hatred,  and  partly,  on  the  other  side,  perhaps 
because  the  English  would  not  listen  to  the  teachings 
of  men  of  a  defeated,  and  to  some  extent  subject,  race. 
So  the  dense  darkness  came  over  the  country  once  more. 
Heathenism  reigned  where  once  Christianity  had  pre- 
vailed ;  the  people  of  a  strange  tongue  and  rough  man- 
ner worshipped  idols  where  formerly  hymns  to  Christ 
had  been  sung,  and  ignorance  and  cruelty  remained,  and 


THE   CONVERSION  OF  ENGLAND.  239 

none  spoke  of  peace.  If  once  the  ice-rivers  of  the  North 
had  stripped  the  country  of  its  beauty,  now  the  coldness 
of  idolatry  swept  away  every  vestige  of  the  faith,  with- 
ered every  hope  of  ecclesiastical  glory  and  made  the 
cross  a  strange  thing. 

And  thus,  so  far  as  British  Christianity  was  concerned, 
it  might  have  continued  for  ever,  but  the  time  came  when 
the  people  that  sat  in  darkness  should  see  the  great  light. 
The  weakness  and  the  weariness  of  paganism  were  felt ; 
the  English  tribes  were  ready  for  something  better  to 
take  its  place.  Yet  when  the  good  work  began,  the 
Briton  had  no  part  in  it ;  indeed,  he  sulkily  refused  to 
do  aught  toward  its  progress.  Other  churches  were  to 
lay  the  foundations  of  that  Church  which  should  be  as 
a  rose  in  the  garden  of  the  Lord  and  the  peerless  princess 
of  Christendom. 

About  the  year  586  some  English  boys  were  exposed 
for  sale  in  the  Forum  at  Rome.  How  they  had  been 
brought  from  their  native  land — whether  bought,  stolen 
or  captured — we  know  not,  but,  notwithstanding  the 
efforts  of  the  Church,  the  traffic  in  slaves,  largely  con- 
ducted by  Jews,  was  still  great.  As  in  helpless  misery 
and  dread  anticipation  the  fair-skinned  and  flaxen-haired 
lads  from  the  North  waited  for  a  purchaser  a  noble-born 
and  kind-hearted  Roman  passed  by.  He  was  a  man  of 
dignified  appearance,  mild  countenance,  ruddy  face  and 
thin  dark  hair;  by  name,  Gregorius.  His  rank,  educa- 
tion and  wealth  made  him  conspicuous  among  the  nobles 
of  his  city ;  he  had  been  distinguished  in  the  Senate  and 
had  held  high  office ;  but,  touched  by  the  power  of  the 
gospel,  he  had  now  given  up  the  law  for  the  Church, 
and  had  laid  aside  the  silk  attire,  the  glittering  gems 


240  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

and  the  purple-striped  trabea  with  which  he  had  once 
walked  through  the  streets  of  Rome  for  the  simple  garb 
of  a  deacon.  His  great  fortune  he  had  devoted  to 
Church  purposes,  and,  resisting  all  temptations,  in  sin- 
gular humility  and  ascetical  severity  he  sought  to  live 
out  the  higher  and  holier  life.  When  he  saw  the  Eng- 
lish slave-boys,  his  soul  was  moved  with  pity,  and  he 
inquired  from  whence  they  came. 

"  From  Britain,"  was  the  answer ;  "  the  people  there 
have  these  fair  complexions." 

"Are  the  people  of  that  island  Christians  or  pagans?" 
he  asked. 

"  Pagans." 

The  countenance  of  the  questioner  saddened,  and  he 
sighed, 

"  Alas,"  he  exclaimed — "  alas  that  such  bright  faces 
should  be  in  the  power  of  the  prince  of  darkness,  and 
that  such  grace  of  form  should  hide  minds  void  of  grace 
within  !     How  call  you  their  nation  ?" 

"Angles." 

"  Well  so  called !"  cried  he,  with  a  thoughtful  playful- 
ness upon  the  name.  *'  They  have  angels'  faces,  and  it 
were  mfeet  they  should  be  fellow-heirs  with  angels  in 
heaven.  What  is  the  name  of  the  province  from  which 
they  came  ?" 

"  Deira " — that  region  between  the  Tees  and  the 
H umber  roughly  corresponding  with  the  modern  York- 
shire. 

"  Right  again !"  the  good  man  replied ;  "  de  ira  Dei 
eruti,  et  ad  misericordiam  Christi  vocati " — plucked 
from  the  wrath  of  God  and  called  to  the  mercy  of 
Christ. 


THE   CONVERSION  OF  ENGLAND.  24 1 

The  name  of  their  king,  the  bystanders  told  him,  was 
Aella. 

"Alleluia!"  he  answered  as  he  proceeded  on  his  way. 
"The  praises  of  God  the  Creator  must.be  sung  in  those 
parts ;"  and  so  heavily  weighed  upon  his  mind  the  thought 
of  the  land  of  these  English  boys  being  in  heathenism 
that  he  desired  at  once  to  go  there  as  a  missionary. 
That,  however,  could  not  be.  He  indeed  obtained  per- 
mission to  set  out — he  started ;  but  the  people  of  Rome 
clamored  for  his  recall,  and  the  bishop  was  forced  to  send 
for  him. 

Greater  work  lay  for  Gregory  in  Rome — work  for 
which  his  marvellous  genius  and  his  noble  scholarship 
unmistakably  qualified  him,  and  work  which  none  but 
he  could  do.  A  few  years  later,  in  590,  when  he  was 
about  fifty  years  of  age,  he  was  made  bishop  of  Rome 
and  began  that  reign  of  wise  consolidation,  of  pontifical 
splendor  and  of  magnanimous  administration  which  has 
fully  justified  his  title  of  "  Great." 

In  these  ages  the  glory  of  the  Roman  Church  shone 
with  purest  lustre.  Her  devotion  to  the  cause  of  Christ, 
her  zeal  and  energy  in  the  propagation  of  his  gospel, 
her  loyalty  to  the  truth,  her  sacrifice  of  wealth  and  the 
ability  of  her  rulers  gave  her  an  influence  and  a  position 
among  the  churches,  if  not  of  supremacy,  certainly  of 
primacy.  Nowhere  were  the  clergy  as  learned  and 
loyal  as  in  Rome,  and  nowhere  were  edifices  as  grand 
and  beautiful  or  services  as  perfect  and  ornate.  The 
mysterious  charm  of  the  city  on  the  Tiber  had  not  yet 
passed  away.  If  no  longer  the  capital  of  the  Empire, 
men  still  thought  of  it  with  respect  and  admired  it  with 
undiminished  enthusiasm.     And,  now  that  its  bishop  was 

16 


242  READINGS  TN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

fast  rising  into  the  position  of  pontifex  maxiimis — of  an 
overlord  of  bishops  and  a  vicar  both  of  Christ  and  of 
Caesar — what  wonder  if  the  ignorant  and  impover- 
ished people  of  distant  parts  of  the  ecclesiastical  world 
looked  to  him  for  help,  and  in  matters  of  religion  which 
they  did  not  understand  to  him  for  guidance?  There 
was  a  great  and  mighty  power,  ever  growing  in  great- 
ness and  in  might,  living  and  strengthening  itself  upon 
the  traditions  and  the  precedents  of  the  older  empire, 
sending  missionaries  and  supporting  missions  in  foreign 
lands,  securing  oftentimes  its  own  nominations  in  outside 
bishoprics  and  benefices,  profiting  by  the  dissensions  and 
the  difficulties  of  princes  and  of  peoples,  proclaiming  the 
faith  and  devising  customs,  assuming  a  position  which 
none  were  potent  enough  to  deny,  and  never  losing 
ground  which  once  it  had  gained.  The  beatings  of 
that  great  heart  were  felt  to  the  remotest  bounds  of 
the  religious  world.  When  the  times  were  dark  and 
heresy  and  disorder  were  prevalent,  Rome  stood  up  for 
doctrine  and  maintained  discipline.  There  for  ages  was 
maintained  the  pure  ^aith  of  the  gospel;  there  for  ages 
were  wrought  good  and  glorious  works.  Lament  and 
denounce  her  after-sins  and  terrible  errors  we  well  may, 
but  in  justice  be  it  remembered  that  once  she  was  indeed 
great,  holy,  true  and  good. 

For  the  first  few  years  of  his  pontificate  Gregory  had 
more  to  think  of  than  the  conversion  of  England,  but 
his  purpose  only  needed  opportunity  for  its  realization. 
He  directed  some  of  the  funds  of  his  Church  estates  in 
Gaul  to  be  spent  in  buying  English  lads  of  seventeen  or 
eighteen  that  they  might  be  trained  up  in  the  faith  and 
sent  to  England  as  missionaries.     He  made   inquiries 


THE   CONVERSION  OF  ENGLAND.  243 

concerning  the  state  of  the  country,  the  nature  of  its 
kingdoms  and  the  disposition  of  its  kings.  He  found 
that  Kent  presented  the  most  favorable  opening;  its 
king,  Ethelbert,  not  only  had  married  a  Christian 
princess,  but  also  had  allowed  her  the  free  exercise  of 
her  religion,  and,  though  not  converted,  he  was  sup- 
posed to  be  not  unfavorable  thereto.  The  good  queen 
Bertha  had  a  bishop  for  her  chaplain,  and  for  her  chapel 
the  little  Roman-British  church  of  St.  Martin,  outside 
the  walls  of  Canterbury.  She  was  not  unmindful  of  her 
duty  toward  the  heathen.  Her  example  and  her  con- 
versation led  many  to  think  kindly  of  Christianity; 
some,  indeed,  besought  the  Gallic  bishops  to  send  them 
instructors,  but  either  indifference  or  fear  prevented  a 
response.  This  was  Gregory's  chance.  In  596  he 
selected  Augustine,  provost  of  his  own  monastery  of 
St.  Andrew,  on  the  Coelian  Hill,  and  forty  of  the  breth- 
ren, to  go  on  a  direct  mission  to  Kent. 

The  company  set  out  in  the  summer  of  that  year, 
and,  having  crossed  the  Alps,  reached  Aix,  in  Provence. 
Here,  heartily  welcomed  by  the  brethren,  they  rested  in 
the  sacred  and  venerable  house  of  Lerins,  and  here  they 
learned  something  of  the  difficulties  of  the  work  to 
which  they  were  sent.  Their  hearts  failed  them  when 
told  of  the  roughness  of  the  country,  the  obstacles  of 
the  language  and  the  hard,  fierce  nature  of  the  people. 
They  even  sent  back  Augustine  to  beseech  Gregory  to 
release  them  from  a  journey  so  full  of  perils,  toils  and 
uncertainties.  But  Gregory  was  not  the  man  to  with- 
draw from  a  work  upon  which  his  soul  was  bent.  Au- 
gustine returned  to  the  brethren  bearing  from  him  a  let- 
ter in  which  the  beauty,  gentleness  and  energy  of  his 


244  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  V. 

mind  are  touchingly  displayed.  He  exhorts  his  "  most 
beloved  sons  "  not  to  be  deterred  by  rumors  and  perils, 
but  to  finish  the  good  work  begun,  **  knowing  that  a 
greater  glory  of  eternal  reward  follows  a  great  labor." 
With  sweet  affection  he  commends  them  to  the  protec- 
tion of  the  grace  of  the  omnipotent  God,  and  with  a 
joyfulness  and  a  delicacy  no  less  delightful  he  hopes 
that  "  in  the  eternal  country  he  may  see  the  fruit  of 
their  labor,  and  because  he  had  wished  to  work  he  may 
be  found  together  with  them  in  the  joy  of  reward." 
Thus  encouraged,  and  furnished  with  commendatory 
letters  to  bishops  on  the  way,  the  company  again  pro- 
ceeded. Augustine  was  made  the  authoritative  director 
of  the  society,  so  that  any  further  reference  to  Gregory, 
and  the  consequent  delay,  might  be  avoided.  And  when 
winter  was  over,  soon  after  the  Easter-tide  of  597,  they 
set  sail  for  the  coasts  of  Ethelbert's  kingdom. 

The  landing  was  effected  at  Ebbsfleet,  in  the  Isle 
of  Thanet,  traditionally  the  spot  where  Hengist  first 
touched  the  British  soil.  Thence  Augustine  sent  a 
message  to  the  king  declaring  the  nature  of  the  embas- 
sy and  requesting  audience  of  him.  Ethelbert  received 
the  messengers  kindly  and  courteously ;  he  ordered  the 
strangers  to  be  furnished  with  all  necessaries,  and  soon 
after  he  went  down  to  Thanet  to  hear  what  Augustine 
had  to  say.  There  he  was  met  by  the  missionaries,  who 
carried  a  picture  of  Christ  and  a  silver  cross  and  chanted 
a  litany.  Fearful  of  magic,  Ethelbert  remained  in  the 
open  air  and  there  listened  to  the  first  words  of  the 
Christians.  An  impression  was  made,  but,  as  he  said, 
not  sufficient  to  induce  him  lightly  to  forsake  the  faith 
of   his  ancestors.     However,  he   bade   them   welcome, 


THE   CONVERSION  OF  ENGLAND.  245 

gave  them  permission  to  preach  to  his  people  and  in- 
vited them  to  abide  in  his  city. 

In  triumph  Augustine  and  his  brethren  approached 
the  then  rude  Canterbury.  It  was  the  week  of  the 
Ascension,  and  as  they  passed  down  the  hill  on  which 
stands  the  church  of  St.  Martin  the  cross  was  uplifted 
and  the  company  chanted  a  pathetic  antiphon.  By  the 
gates  the  shout  of  "  Alleluia !"  went  up  to  heaven.  Now 
should  another  kingdom  be  added  to  the  kingdoms  of 
God  and  of  his  Christ ;  now  should  be  laid  the  founda- 
tions of  a  Church  which  was  destined  in  time  to  be  as 
glorious  as  any  in  Christendom.  In  the  lodgings  allot- 
ted them  they  lived  quietly  and  soberly,  setting  forth  the 
graces  of  the  new  religion  and  remaining  instant  in 
prayer,  fastings  and  watchings.  Nor  were  the  heathen 
unaffected.  Bede  adds,  "  Some  believed  and  were  bap- 
tized, admiring  the  simplicity  of  their  innocent  life  and 
the  sweetness  of  their  heavenly  doctrine."  Before  long 
the  king  resolved  to  accept  Christianity,  so  that  by  bap- 
tism, according  to  the  words  of  the  service  then  used, 
"  he  might  be  born  again  into  the  infancy  of  true  inno- 
cence "  and  be  "  strengthened  by  the  clear  shining  of 
the  Holy  Spirit."  His  conversion  was  important  and 
his  example  was  great,  but  he  was  taught  not  to  compel 
others  to  do  as  he  had  done,  for  Gregory  had  written, 
"  He  who  is  brought  to  the  font  by  coercion  instead  of 
persuasion  is  but  too  likely  to  relapse."  Ethelbert,  there- 
fore, contented  himself  by  clinging  to  the  believers  with 
a  more  close  love,  "  as  being  his  fellow-citizens  of  the 
heavenly  kingdom."  In  the  autumn  Augustine  went  to 
Aries,  where  by  the  metropolitan  Virgilius  he  was  con- 
secrated first  archbishop  of  Canterbury,  and  on  his  re- 


246  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  V. 

turn  the  king  gave  him  for  a  residence  his  own  palace, 
built  of  wood,  near  which  was  a  desecrated  church 
erected  "  by  the  handiwork  of  Roman  Christians." 
This  he  restored  and  rededicated  '*  in  the  name  of  the 
Holy  Saviour,  Jesus  Christ  our  Lord  and  God,"  and 
this  was  the  nucleus  of  "  Christ  Church,"  the  mother- 
church  of  English  Christianity  and  the  metropolitan 
church  of  the  land  from  the  Cheviots  to  the  rocks  of 
Cornwall.  To  the  "  cathedral  "  he  attached  a  home  for 
his  monks,  and  around  the  church  of  St.  Pancras — for 
long  used  by  the  heathen  English  as  a  temple,  and  lying 
halfway  toward  St.  Martin — he  established  a  monastery 
dedicated  to  St.  Peter,  but  now  known  by  his  own  name. 
On  Christmas-day  upward  often  thousand  converts  were 
baptized  in  the  waters  of  the  Swale,  near  the  mouth  of 
the  Medway,  and,  in  the  spring  of  598,  Augustine  sent 
to  Gregory  an  account  of  the  progress  and  success  of 
his  mission. 

The  good  bishop  was  overjoyed  with  the  intelligence, 
and  not  only  proceeded  to  give  further  directions  for  the 
carrying  on  of  the  work,  but  also  sought  to  find  for  it 
more  laborers.  He  instructed  Augustine  to  divide  the 
country  into  two  provinces,  each  to  contain  twelve  bish- 
oprics— the  one  under  the  metropolitan  of  London,  and 
the  other  under  the  metropolitan  of  York.  The  new 
Church  was  to  adopt  a  ritual  of  its  own,  and  not  neces- 
sarily the  Roman.  The  British  Church  was  to  be  re- 
garded as  under  the  jurisdiction  of  Augustine,  and  was 
to  be  urged  to  conform  itself  to  Catholic  usage  and  to 
take  part  in  the  conversion  of  the  English.  Finally,  in 
June,  601,  Gregory  sent  four  men — Mellitus,  Justus, 
Paulinus  and   Rufinianus — to  help  in  the  work. 


THE   CONVERSION  OF  ENGLAND.  247 

But  Augustine's  mission  was  almost  at  an  end.  It 
went  but  little  beyond  the  confines  of  Kent,  nor  would 
the  British  bishops,  who  still  sulked  among  the  Welsh 
mountains,  either  acknowledge  his  authority  or  take  part 
in  his  labors.  In  March,  604,  Gregory  died,  and  two 
months  afterward  Augustine  also  went  the  way  of  all 
flesh.  All  that  he  had  done,  notwithstanding  the  bril- 
liant promise,  was  the  opening  of  the  door  into  England. 
He  was  devout,  honest,  laborious  and  loyal,  but  neither 
by  nature  adapted  for  a  work  demanding  breadth  of 
mind  and  foresight  nor  successful  in  commanding  or 
influencing  men.  Nor  have  the  generations  since  done 
more  than  respect  him  for  having  been  the  first  of  a 
line  of  prelates  which  continues  to  this  day,  and  for 
having  begun  a  work  which,  carried  on  by  others,  was 
splendid  in  its  consequences.  He  was  succeeded  by  a 
fellow-missionary,  Laurentius,  in  whose  episcopate  Ethel- 
bert  died,  and  for  a  brief  while  the  kingdom  lapsed  into 
paganism. 

Indeed,  an  incoming  tide  of  reaction  threatened  speed- 
ily to  overwhelm  the  entire  enterprise  with  failure.  Ob- 
stacles multiplied  with  amazing  rapidity.  The  whole 
land  north  of  the  Thames  and  west  of  the  Mole,  still  in 
heathen  gloom  and  harassed  by  divisions  and  strifes, 
was  untouched ;  yet  with  the  toilers  of  the  Kentish  mis- 
sion the  Gallic  Church  had  little  sympathy,  and  the 
British  Christians  none  whatever.  No  success  or  no 
failure  of  others  aroused  the  latter  from  their  lethargy. 
Ere  long  it  was  difficult  to  know  whether  they  hated 
more  the  English  pagans  than  the  Italian  missionaries  ; 
at  any  rate,  they  contented  themselves  with  stealing 
sheep  and  burning  villages  along  the  borders.     But  the 


248  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  K 

prayers  of  a  Gregory  were  not  to  go  unanswered.  Once 
more  the  flood  began  to  ebb.  The  new  king  of  Kent 
became  Christian  and  threw  himself  heartily  into  the 
work — so  heartily,  indeed,  that  when  Edwin,  king  of 
Northumbria  and  son  of  that  Aella  who  had  occasioned 
Gregory's  ''  Alleluia,"  desired  of  him  his  sister  Ethel- 
burga  in  marriage,  Eadbald  replied,  "  I  cannot  give  my 
sister  to  a  heathen ;  my  religion  forbids  it,"  and  this 
noble  refusal  led  to  another  onward  step  in  the  conver- 
sion of  England. 

Edwin  was  thoughtful,  cautious,  reticent  and  vigilant. 
He  had  suffered  much  in  securing  his  kingdom ;  he  was 
now  willing  to  suffer  something  to  secure  his  wife.  He 
promised  that  she  and  her  attendants  should  keep  their 
own  religion  and  have  their  own  clergy  and  worship  ; 
possibly,  should  his  wise  men  pronounce  her  faith  better 
than  his  own,  he  might  adopt  it.  To  this  Eadbald  con- 
sented;  and  in  the  late  summer  of  625,  Paulinus  was 
consecrated  bishop  and  sent  with  the  princess  to  her 
Northern  home.  The  king  kept  the  first  part  of  his 
promise  and  neglected  the  second.  He  treated  the 
bishop  with  all  respect  and  allowed  him  to  exercise  his 
office,  but  he  did  not  show  any  disposition  to  examine 
his  creed.  Paulinus  soon  found  that  he  had  little  to  do 
but  to  keep  from  heathenism  the  few  Christians  about 
him.  He  was  of  an  earnest  spirit,  pure  in  mind  and 
warm  in  heart,  zealous  enough  to  endure  hardship  for 
the  cross  of  Christ  and  wise  enough  to  know  that 
"  they  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait." 

It  was  not  so  long  before  his  chance  came.  On  the 
Easter-eve  of  626  a  daughter  was  born  to  Edwin.  The 
same   day  the  king,  by  the  interposition  of  a  faithful 


THE   CONVERSION  OF  ENGLAND.  249 

retainer,  had  been  saved  from  assassination.  Overjoyed 
by  these  happy  events,  Edwin  promised  Paulinus  that 
should  he  return  successful  from  a  war  against  Wessex 
he  would  take  Christ  for  his  Lord,  and  as  an  earnest  he 
gave  over  the  infant  to  be  baptized.  Accordingly,  on 
Whitsun-eve,  with  eleven  others  of  her  household,  the 
little  princess — first  of  the  Northumbrian  race — was  re- 
ceived into  the  Church.  But  Edwin  went  to  Wessex, 
slew  five  of  its  princes,  returned  home  triumphant  and 
left  Christianity  alone.  Still,  he  listened  to  the  plead- 
ings of  the  bishop  and  pondered  seriously  the  great  alter- 
native either  of  giving  up  the  gods  or  of  accepting  Christ. 
Finally  he  consulted  his  chief  friends  and  counsellors : 
what  did  they  think  of  this  new  religion  ?  The  chief 
pagan  priest,  Coifi,  declared  that  he  had  profited  noth- 
ing by  the  gods,  and  therefore  would  advise  trying  the 
new  lore.  One  of  the  thanes,  however,  more  nearly 
expressed  the  want  which  weighed  most  upon  heathen 
hearts — that  strange,  bewildering  mystery  of  life.  "  I 
will  tell  you,  O  king,"  he  said,  "  what  methinks  man's 
life  is  hke.  Sometimes,  when  your  hall  is  lit  up  for  sup- 
per on  a  wild  winter's  evening  and  warmed  by  a  fire  in 
the  midst,  out  of  the  rain  and  snow  a  sparrow  flies  in  by 
one  door,  takes  shelter  for  a  moment  in  the  warmth,  and 
then  flies  out  again  by  another  door  and  is  lost  in  the 
stormy  darkness.  No  one  in  the  hall  sees  the  bird  be- 
fore it  enters  nor  after  it  has  gone  forth  ;  it  is  only  seen 
while  it  hovers  near  the  fire.  So  tarries  for  a  moment 
the  life  of  man  in  our  sight,  but  what  has  gone  before 
it,  what  will  come  after  it,  we  know  not.  If  the  new 
teaching  tells  us  aught  certainly  of  these,  let  us  follow 
it."      Such   words   deeply  impressed  those  who  heard 


250  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

them ;  then  Coifi  proposed  that  Paulinus  should  before 
them  all  set  forth  his  doctrine.  The  tall  and  venerable 
bishop  at  once  arose  and  with  grace  and  dignity  preached 
to  them  the  Lord  Jesus.  His  message  reached  their 
hearts.  The  chief  priest  exclaimed,  "  This  is  the  truth ; 
I  see  it  shining  out  clearly  in  this  teaching.  Let  us  de- 
stroy these  useless  temples  and  altars  and  give  them  up 
to  the  curse  and  flame."  All  the  nobles  agreed  with  the 
king  to  accept  Christianity,  and  together  they  passed 
through  the  preparation  of  catechumens.  Then,  on 
Easter-eve,  April  11,  627^  in  a  little  chapel  hastily  built 
of  wood  upon  ground  now  covered  by  the  glorious  min- 
ster of  York,  Edwin,  his  princes  and  thanes  and  his  grand- 
niece  Hilda  received  holy  baptism.  The  spring  of  water 
still  flows  in  the  crypt  of  the  great  church. 

Thus  was  Christianity  founded  in  Northumbria.  Un- 
der Edwin  the  kingdom  had  peace,  and  justice  was  so 
well  administered  that  it  was  said  a  woman  with  her 
infant  could  pass  unharmed  from  sea  to  sea.  He  built 
churches  and  did  all  he  could  to  help  on  the  evangel- 
ization of  his  people.  By  his  efforts  the  gospel  was 
preached  in  East  Anglia,  and  partly  by  Felix  from  the 
Kentish  mission  and  partly  by  some  brethren — of  whom 
the  learned  and  holy  Fursey  was  chief — from  the  Irish 
Church  this  kingdom  was  brought  over  to  Christian- 
ity. Paulinus  was  made  archbishop  of  York,  and  for  six 
years  he  went  through  the  land  proclaiming  the  Christ 
and  baptizing  many  converts.  But,  as  in  Kent,  reverses 
came.  In  the  autumn  of  633,  Penda,  king  of  Mercia,  a 
cruel  and  bitter  pagan,  and  Cadwallon,  king  of  Gwynedd, 
as  cruel  and  bitter  an  adherent  of  the  British  Church, 
united  in  an  invasion  of  Northumbria.     A  battle  was 


THE   CONVERSION   OF  ENGLAND.  25  I 

fought  at  Hatfield,  October  12,  and  Edwin  was  slain. 
Forthwith  his  kingdom  was  at  the  mercy  of  the  allies. 
The  Mercians,  infuriated  with  victory,  burnt  and  tore 
down  every  church  they  found ;  as  for  the  British  king, 
Christian  though  he  was,  we  read,  "  He  spared  neither 
women  nor  children,  but  put  them  to  torturing  deaths, 
raging  for  a  long  time  through  all  the  country,  and 
resolving  that  he  would  be  the  man  to  exterminate  the 
whole  English  race  within  the  bounds  of  Britain."  Thus 
was  Northumbria  subjected  to  the  ravages  of  two  kings 
who,  though  they  differed  in  race  and  in  religion,  were 
one  in  the  art  and  the  purpose  of  devastation  and  blood- 
shed. Christianity  was  suppressed  and  all  but  destroyed. 
Paulinus  fled  to  Kent,  and  was  made  bishop  of  Roches- 
ter. Then  in  a  year's  time  arose  a  defender  of  North- 
umbria's  freedom,  Oswald,  the  pure  and  noble,  brave 
in  war  and  wise  in  council,  a  devout  Christian,  and  to 
him  was  given  the  mastery  over  his  country's  foes  and 
the  crown  of  his  country's  kings. 

As  soon  as  Oswald  had  secured  the  throne  he  began 
the  restoration  of  Christianity.  He  did  not  send  to  Kent 
for  missionaries,  much  less  to  the  British  Church,  but  to 
lona,  where  once  he  had  found  a  refuge.  This  was  a 
small  island  off  the  coast  of  Scotland,  out  in  the  dark 
and  stormy  Atlantic.  There  a  community  had  been 
formed  by  the  holy  Columba — one  who  with  St.  Pat- 
rick wrought  so  much  and  so  well  for  the  foundation 
of  the  ancient  and  ever-glorious  Church  of  Ireland. 
He  had  died  about  the  time  that  Augustine  began  his 
work  in  Kent,  but  the  missionary  zeal  of  the  brethren 
had  in  no  wise  diminished.  They  at  once  sent  to  North- 
umbria a  brother,  Corman  by  name,  but  he  soon  returned 


252  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

with  complaints  of  the  stubborn  and  impracticable  peo- 
ple among  whom  he  had  labored.  "  It  is  of  no  use/' 
he  said,  '*  to  attempt  to  convert  such  people  as  they  are." 
The  community  listened  to  him  with  sadness ;  it  seemed 
as  if  night  had  fallen  upon  lona.  To  the  brethren  came 
the  shuddering  as.  of  the  sea  at  the  skimming  of  the 
breeze.  Then  one  stood  up  and  quietly  remonstrated. 
"  My  brother,"  he  said,  "  thou  hast  been  too  austere  and 
severe.  The  people  there  know  but  little  and  have  had 
but  few  opportunities  to  learn.  Thou  shouldst  have  re- 
membered the  apostle's  words  and  nourished  them  first  as 
babes  with  the  milk  of  God's  word,  with  its  simplest  and 
plainest  precepts.  Then,  afterward,  they  had  been  able 
to  receive  more  advanced  instruction-  and  a  sublimer 
teaching."  All  looked  at  the  speaker.  It  was  Aidan, 
the  gentle,  simple  and  holy.  Surely  he  was  the  one  to 
send ;  so  they  consecrated  him,  and  in  the  summer  of 
635   he  sailed  for  the  wild  Northumbrian  land. 

The  love  of  Aidan  for  lona  was  shown  in  his  selecting 
as  the  headquarters  of  his  mission,  rather  than  York, 
the  island  of  Lindisfarne,  near  Bamborough.  Here  he 
founded  a  brotherhood  and  a  schobl  for  the  education 
of  English  youths.  He  sent  out  missionaries  through 
the  country,  exemplified  in  his  own  life  the  beauty  of 
Christianity,  and  began  again  that  work  which  in  the 
end  resulted  in  the  entire  conversion  of  the  northern 
kingdom.  After  sixteen  years  of  toil  he  entered  into 
his  rest,  and  another  ruler  from  lona,  Finan,  took  up 
his  work.  The  light  spread  farther.  Peada,  the  son  of 
the  old  pagan  Penda,  was  attracted  to  one  of  the  prin- 
cesses of  Northumbria,  and  thus  he  came  to  think 
kindly  of  the  religion  his  father  had  done  so  much  to 


THE   CONVERSION  OF  ENGLAND.  253 

destroy.  When  told  that  he  could  not  have  Alchfled 
for  a  wife  unless  he  became  Christian,  he  replied,  "  I  ivill 
be  a  Christian,  whether  I  have  the  maiden  or  not." 
Finan  baptized  him,  and  under  his  protection  sent  four 
missionaries  into  Mercia.  Penda  suffered  them  to 
preach,  though  he  himself  held  fast  to  his  gods.  One 
of  the  missionaries,  Cedd,  went  on  into  East  Anglia; 
another,  Diuma,  won  renown  among  the  Christian  heroes 
of  Mid-England.  Then  the  rer.tless  Penda  began  another 
war  for  the  subjugation  of  Northumbria  and  the  destruc- 
tion of  Christianity.  A  battle  was  fought  on  November 
I5»  655.  ^i^d  in  it  Penda  was  killed.  With  him  fell  the 
political  power  of  paganism.  Henceforth  the  Church 
had  free  course  in  Mercia,  nor  since  the  battle  of  Win- 
widfield  has  any  secular  authority  in  Britain  formally 
disowned  the  faith  of  Christ. 

Already  had  Wessex  received  the  gospel  from  the 
Roman  missionary  Birinus ;  so  that  by  this  time  Chrisr- 
tianity  had  laid  a  firm  hold  upon  the  people  of  the  sev- 
eral English  kingdoms.  In  these  labors  the  workers 
came  from  two  churches — some  from  Rome,  and  others 
from  Ireland;  none  from  the  British  Church.  It  con- 
tinued in  selfish  isolation,  hating  England  and  defying 
Rome,  until  in  the  course  of  centuries,  dying,  it  fell  into 
the  arms  of  the  one  and  acknowledged  the  supremacy 
of  the  other.  For  long  much  paganism  remained,  but 
mightily  grew  the  word  of  God  and  prevailed.  Later, 
Chad  and  Cuthbert  entered  the  field.  The  rough  Eng- 
lish listened  to  the  tidings  of  the  white  Christ,  and  as 
they  listened  they  were  changed — changed  somewhat 
into  the  image  of  Him  of  whom  they  heard.  Before  the 
glory  of  the  gospel  the  dark  shades  of  ignorance  and 


254  J^EADINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

superstition  began  to  pass  away ;  the  old  gods  were  dis- 
owned  and  their  altars  were  dishonored ;  warriors  gray 
with  years  and  stained  with  blood  sat  down  with  women 
and  children  at  the  feet  of  the  messengers  of  Christ,  and 
the  land  began  to  enter  into  its  Sabbath  rest.  Surely 
a  mighty  regeneration  had  been  wrought !  and  from 
many  a  distant  valley,  from  deep  forest  and  dreary  wild, 
and  from  the  side  of  mountain,  stream  and  sea,  arose 
prayer  and  hymn  to  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  everywhere 
the  symbol  of  the  cross  and  the  sound  of  the  bell  pro- 
claimed that  the  land  of  Odin  had  passed  over  to  Christ, 
and  that  the  English  people  had  become  Christian. 

Many  are  the  holy  ones  who  adorned  those  times,  but 
we  may  glance  only  at  two  just  ment.ioned.  St.  Chad 
was  a  Northumbrian  Christian  brought  up  at  Lindisfarne, 
and  in  664  was  consecrated  bishop  of  York  by  Wini  of 
Wessex,  who  succeeded  in  inducing  two  British  bishops 
to  assist;  but,  some  irregularity  being  detected  in  the  act, 
five  years  later  he  resigned  the  see.  The  same  year, 
669,  he  was  by  the  archbishop  of  Canterbury  ordained 
bishop  of  Mercia.  His  life  there  was  beautiful  with  all 
the  graces  of  evangelical  piety  and  zeal.  He  journeyed 
through  his  vast  diocese  on  foot,  suffering  with  apostolic 
fortitude  many  perils  and  preaching  with  apostolic  fer- 
vor the  glad  tidings  of  Christ.  He  was  fond  of  singing, 
and  he  and  his  company  were  wont  as  they  wandered 
along  the  roads  of  that  Staffordshire  country  to  .chant 
the  psalms  of  David,  The  people  learned  to  love  him. 
Three  years  only  did  he  labor ;  then,  at  Lichfield,  March 
2,  672,  he  passed  into  the  better  land — or,  as  Bede  lov- 
ingly puts  it,  "  his  hallowed  soul,  being  freed  from  the 
prison  of  the  body,  went  under  the  guidance,  as  it  is 


THE   CONVERSION   OF  ENGLAND.  255 

right  to  believe,  of  attendant  angels  to  eternal  joys."  A 
week  before  his  death  his  servitor  Ouini  heard  a  sound 
of  angelic  melody  coming  from  the  south-west,  until  it 
reached  and  filled  the  oratory  where  he  was  praying. 
"The  lovable  guest,"  said  the  good  bishop;  "ere  long 
the  messenger  will  return."  And  far  away,  in  Ireland,  one 
Egbert,  who  had  been  a  fellow-student,  dreamt  that  he 
saw  the  soul  of  Cedd,  the  apostle  of  East  Anglia,  descend 
from  heaven  with  a  company  of  angels  to  take  the  freed 
spirit  of  Chad  into  the  heavenly  kingdom.  The  memory 
of  the  saint  is  still  green  in  the  midland  counties,  where 
the  cathedral  and  thirty-one  parish  churches  are  ded- 
icated to  him. 

Of  even  more  exquisite  beauty  is  the  character  of  St. 
Cuthbert.  He  too  was  a  Northumbrian,  from  beyond 
the  Tweed,  and  we  first  hear  of  him  when  a  shepherd  in 
the  hill-country  upon  the  banks  of  the  Leader.  Though 
of  a  witty  disposition,  fond  of  feats  of  agility  and  decid- 
edly poetical,  he  had  a  deep  consciousness  of  the  Unseen 
and  an  abiding  reverence  for  religion.  One  night  in  65 1, 
while  watching  his  flock  and  singing  hymns,  he  sud- 
denly beheld  in  the  skies  the  bright  light  of  angels. 
They  came  to  earth,  and  again  ascended  bearing  with 
them,  a  spirit  of  surpassing  glory.  He  told  his  com- 
rades ;  they  laughed  and  said  the  display  was  that  of 
falling  stars  or  Northern  Lights.  But  later  he  learned 
that  at  that  time  St.  Aidan  of  Lindisfarne  had  died,  and 
the  vision  became  to  him  a  call  to  a  higher  life.  He 
went  to  Melrose  and  sought  admission  to  the  brother- 
hood. They  made  him  a  monk,  and  thirteen  years  later 
sent  him  to  Lindisfarne.  Here  for  twelve  years  he 
ruled  that  famous  community ;  two  years  he  then  spent 


ZS6  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

in  seclusion  upon  an  island  six  miles  away,  and  on 
Easter-day,  685,  he  was  consecrated  bishop  of  the  region 
extending  from  the  North  Sea  to  the  Solway  and  north- 
ward to  the  Frith  of  Forth.  His  episcopate  was  bril- 
liant, but  short.  On  the  Wednesday  after  Midlent- 
Sunday,  6'^'j ,  he  was  called  to  rest.  By  his  patience,  his 
good  sense,  his  playfulness  of  soul,  his  unchanging  faith 
and  his  holy  life  he  made  a  deep  impression  upon  his 
contemporaries.  The  splendor  of  his  fame  has  grown 
with  the  ages.  Legends  have  clustered  around  him, 
and  there  is  to-day  in  the  British  Museum  the  book  of 
the  Gospels  which  he  and  his  brethren  at  Lindisfarne 
used,  bearing  upon  its  leaves  the  stains  of  the  sea-water 
incurred  during  a  wreck  which  a  little  later  befell  the 
community.  His  remains  still  rest  within  the  Cathedral 
of  Durham. 

Much  had  been  done  for  the  English ;  much  remained 
to  be  done.  As  yet  the  work  was  in  fragments.  The 
bishoprics  were  as  much  isolated  as  were  the  kingdoms. 
Confusion  soon  began.  There  were  differences  of  cus- 
toms, doctrine  and  administration,  and  the  time  came 
when  the  choice  lay  between  Christianity  disintegrated, 
chaotic,  and  a  strong,  united  and  compact  organization. 
Should  there  be  one  Church  for  the  whole  people,  or  a 
separate  Church  for  each  petty  principality  ?  Further, 
should  that  Church  conform  to  the  practices  of  a  Church 
outside  of  continental  Christianity,  or  to  the  customs  of 
one  alive  to  the  age  and  loyal  to  the  faith  and  the  pre- 
cepts of  Nicaea  ?  Both  questions  were  settled  by  the 
appointment  of  Theodore  of  Tarsus  to  the  see  of  Can- 
terbury. 

This  remarkable  man  was  consecrated  in  668  by  Pope 


THE   CONVERSION  OF  ENGLAND.  257 

Vitalian.  Upon  taking  charge  of  his  jurisdiction,  though 
an  old  man,  he  set  vigorously  to  work,  He  sought  to 
reconcile  the  varying  theories  of  doctrine,  to  bring  the  in- 
dependent dioceses  under  a  central  authority,  and  to  cor- 
rect the  carelessness  which  had  prevailed  concerning 
confirmation  and  ordination.  He  settled  the  rule  as  to 
the  keeping  of  Easter,  the  mode  of  baptism,  the  duties 
of  the  regular  and  secular  clergy  and  the  methods  of 
conducting  divine  worship.  He  assumed  for  Canterbury 
supremacy  over  all  other  sees  within  the  island,  and  de- 
voted his  indomitable  energies  and  wisely-directed  zeal 
to  the  establishment  of  his  claim.  He  travelled  through- 
out the  length  and  the  breadth  of  the  island,  dividing 
and  defining  dioceses  and  parishes,  dedicating  afresh 
churches  which  not  been  properly  set  apart,  directing 
the  work  of  the  clergy  in  each  locality,  administering 
discipline  and  deciding  disputes,  always  insisting  upon 
his  own  archiepiscopal  see  as  the  visible  centre  of  unity 
and  the  keystone  in  the  arch  upon  which  all  depended. 
Everywhere  the  people  received  him  enthusiastically, 
recognized  the  wisdom  of  his  reforms  and  carried  out 
the  measures  he  proposed.  Thus  by  his  firmness  of 
purpose,  his  genius  and  his  wonderful  personality  he 
stayed  the  disintegrating  process  and  brought  about  that 
uniformity  which  was  essential  to  unity.  In  673  he  held 
the  first  synod  of  the  Church  of  England — that  of  Hert- 
ford, the  prototype  of  our  later  ecclesiastical  and  national 
assemblies.  His  attempts  to  remove  the  reproach  of  an 
unlearned  clergy  resulted  in  the  foundation  of  a  school 
at  Canterbury  where,  under  himself  and  other  efficient 
masters,  instruction  was  given  in  the  sacred  Scriptures 
and  the  Liturgy,  in  reading  and  writing,  and  in  Latin, 

17 


258  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Greek,  arithmetic  and  astronomy.  In  the  twenty-two 
years  of  his  rule  he  supphed  England  with  an  episcopate 
every  member  of  which  he  personally  consecrated.  Never 
again  came  in  an  Irish  or  a  British  ordination  to  interfere 
with  the  clear  and  undeniable  succession  from  the  see 
of  St.  Peter;  never  again  in  England  did  bishop  rule 
whose  orders  were  not  in  that  Roman  line.  Before  his 
episcopate  ended  he  saw  among  the  English  people  a 
united  Church  in  which  were  thorough  organization, 
uniformity  of  faith  and  practice,  considerable  learning, 
marked  piety  of  life  and  growing  zeal.  The  debt  which 
the  Church  of  England  owes  to  Theodore  of  Tarsus, 
seventh  archbishop  of  Canterbury  and  the  friend  of  Con- 
stans,  is  second  in  extent  to  none  which  is  due  to  other 
prelates  and  administrators  who  helped  to  make  her 
what  she  is  to-day. 

And  now  was  the  land  of  the  once  fierce  and  pagan 
English  Christian.  A  century  and  a  half  before  the 
kingdoms  were  made  into  one  realm  there  was  one 
Church  over  all ;  a  century  and  a  half  before  there  was 
a  king  of  all  England  the  archbishop  of  Canterbury 
ruled  from  the  cliffs  of  Dover  to  the  mountains  of  Cum- 
bria, from  the  confines  of  the  Britons  to  the  shores  of 
the  North  Sea.  Older  than  Parliaments,  that  Church 
was  not  created  by  Parliaments ;  older  than  the  State, 
that  Church  was  not  established  by  the  State.  Doomed 
to  pass  through  many  changes  and  to  need  many  re- 
formations, she  was  also  destined  to  pass  through  the 
ages  an  intact  and  unbroken  body.  The  Church  of 
Augustine  and  of  Theodore  lives  to-day,  the  queenly 
mother  of  our  own  American  Church,  and,  echoing  to 
the  "  Alleluia "    of  Gregory    uttered   thirteen   hundred 


THE    CONVERSION  OF  ENGLAND.  259 

years  ago,  arise  the  ''  Alleluias  "  from  many  a  shore  and 
many  a  distant  land,  proclaiming  that  this  great,  all- 
powerful  and  living  Anglo-Saxon  race  recognizes  Jesus 
as  its  Lord  and  his  cross  as  its  salvation. 

An  old  legend  runs  that  God  preserved  in  the  beauti- 
ful red  rose  the  burning  sparks  which  came  from  the 
martyrs'  fires,  and  the  people  of  the  Middle  Ages  told 
of  heroic  witnesses  for  the  faith  whose  blood,  falling  on 
glowing  embers,  lived  and  was  preserved  for  ever  in  that 
lovely  flower.  But  in  God's  garden  there  is  no  sweeter, 
richer  rose,  none  more  beauteous — not  so  much  for  its 
crimson  stains  of  martyred  blood  as  for  the  radiance  of 
faith  and  love  which  fall  upon  it  from  the  divine  Lord — 
than  the  one  which  grew  out  of  the  life's  work  of  these 
spiritual  heroes.  The  little  island-Church  planted  amid 
the  thorns  of  the  wilderness  and  the  solitude  of  the 
desert  has  become  the  beauty  of  Christendom  and  an 
everlasting  witness  to  the  power  of  the  heavenly  grace. 


CHAPTER    X. 

g>t«  ©ut^lac  anir  tije  Mhtij  Df  fflrDglanlr. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  seventh  century,  Guthlac,  a 
youth  of  princely  Mercian  blood,  sought  in  the  midst 
of  the  wild  and  solitary  fenland  a  place  where  he  might 
serve  God  alone  and  in  peace.  He  had  been  remark- 
able from  his  cradle.  At  his  birth  was  seen  in  the  sky 
the  prodigy  of  a  hand  of  fiery  brilliancy  pointing  to  the 
cross  standing  before  his  mother's  house;  whereupon 
he  received  holy  baptism.  As  a  child  he  was  gentle, 
sweet-tempered  and  dutiful,  as  if  "  irradiated  by  spirit- 
ual light;"  but  when  he  grew  up,  the  war-spirit  mani- 
fested itself,  and  his  early  years  were  spent,  after  the 
manner  of  his  time  and  his  race,  in  rude  and  lawless 
enterprises.  With  a  band  of  like-minded  followers  he 
went  hither  and  thither  through  the  land,  pillaging  and 
burning  the  homes  of  the  thrifty,  invading  and  ransack- 
ing villages  and  towns,  and  spreading  untold  misery 
along  the  broad  trail  of  blood  and  rapine,  though  it  was 
afterward  said — such  was  the  natural  kindness  of  his  dis- 
position— that  he  always  returned  a  third  part  of  the 
plunder  to  those  who  had  possessed  the  property. 

But  the  day  of  repentance  came  to  the  young  chief- 
tain. After  eight  years  of  this  ferocious  life — in  697, 
when  twenty-four  years  of  age — as,  surrounded  by  his 
warriors,  he  one  night  lay  sleepless  in  the  forest,  he  be- 

260 


ST.    GUTHLAC  AND   CKOYLAND.  26 1 

thought  himself  of  the  crimes  he  had  done  and  the  woe 
he  had  wrought.  Before  his  mind  arose  the  vision  of 
the  doom  which  awaited  such  as  he,  and  as  he  pondered 
upon  the  vanity  of  this  world's  glory  and  upon  the 
teachings  and  warnings  of  the  missionaries  of  the  cross, 
he  resolved  by  the  grace  of  God  to  abandon  his  sins  and 
to  devote  the  rest  of  his  days  to  the  service  of  his  Re- 
deemer. In  the  morning  he  bade  his  comrades  fare- 
well and,  heedless  of  their  remonstrances,  hasted  to 
Repton,  on  the  banks  of  the  Trent,  where  was  a  commu- 
nity of  men  and  women  ruled  by  an  abbess  named 
Elfrida.  Here  Guthlac  offered  himself  a  penitent  at 
the  altar,  received  the  monastic  habit  and  shore  off  the 
long  hair  which  marked  his  noble  rank.  At  first  his 
extreme  abstemiousness  offended  the  brethren,  among 
whom  discipline  seems  to  have  been  lax.  With  the 
"  apostolic  tonsure  "  he  took  up  the  rule  of  **  total  ab- 
stinence," and  save  in  time  of  communion  never  tasted 
wine  or  strong  drink.  But  by  his  modest  and  affection- 
ate disposition  and  his  desire  to  imitate  the  more  mod- 
erate  virtues  of  the  other  inmates  of  the  house,  he  speed- 
ily disarmed  all  animosity.  They  who  saw  Guthlac  the 
monk  remembered  not  Guthlac  the  warrior,  so  beauti- 
fully did  the  divine  love  illuminate  his  soul  and  so  com- 
plete the  transformation  of  his  character.  In  the  quiet 
cloisters  he  learned  psalms  and  hymns  and  studied  the 
lives  of  the  anchorets ;  then  to  him  came  the  longing 
for  solitude.  He  would  emulate  the  virtues  of  that 
Alexandrian  Paul  who  spent  ninety  years  in  the  desert 
of  the  Thebaid ;  he  would  walk  in  the  footsteps  of  the 
glorious  Antony — the  man  of  the  sheepskin  and  the 
rock,  the  friend  of  brutes  and  the  vanquisher  of  demons, 


262  READINGS  IN  'CHURCH  HISTOR  V. 

whose  austerity  and  holiness  won  for  him  imperishable 
fame  and  made  him  the  exemplar  of  all  who  would  live 
away  from  the  world.  Accordingly,  "  with  the  leave  of  his 
elders,"  in  the  early  June  days  he  set  out  for  the  swamps 
and  marshes  which  lay  on  the  eastern  borders  of  Mercia, 
in  the  lonely  and  dismal  depths  of  which  he  hoped  to 
find  some  quiet  and  unknown  islet  where  he  might  spend 
his  remaining  years  in  prayer  and  meditation.  On  reach- 
ing Grantchester  (near  Cambridge)  he  heard  of  an  island 
in  the  very  heart  of  the  vast  wilderness,  forsaken  by  man, 
but  frequented  by  hosts  of  malignant  and  monstrous 
spirits.  The  soul  of  the  warrior  revived :  he  would 
search  for  the  uncanny  spot,  take  up  his  abode  there 
and  do  battle  against  the  powers  of  darkness.  Enter- 
ing into  a  small  boat  and  committing  himself  to  the  pro- 
tection of  Providence  and  the  guidance  of  a  fisherman 
— Tatwin  by  name,  who  knew  the  place  and  had  been 
driven  therefrom  by  **  monsters  of  the  wilderness  and 
awesome  shapes  of  divers  kinds  " — he  was  wafted  along 
the  dreary,  dark,  wandering  streams  and  through  the  ter- 
rible solitude  to  the  island  known  as  Croyland,  or,  more 
properly,  Cruland,  Crudeland  or  Crowland.  It  was  a 
slightly-elevated  ground  hidden  amongst  the  tall  reeds, 
surrounded  by  the  blcick  sluggish  waters  and  frequently 
buried  within  the  heavy  folds  of  dense  and  unwholesome 
fogs.  Guthlac,  however,  took  up  his  abode  there  on  St. 
Bartholomew's  day,  in  the  warm  and  pleasant  August 
month,  when  the  fenland  appeared  in  the  height  of  itb 
glory — a  time  when  grass  and  trees  were  green,  and 
wild-birds  passed  in  flocks  hither  and  thither,  and  the 
water  seemed  alive  with  fish  and  frogs,  and  the  sky 
was  full  of  tender  tints. 


ST.    GUTHLAC  AND   CROYLAND.  263 

The  place,  though  now  uninhabited,  had  once  been 
frequented  by  man,  for  Guthlac  found  there  the  ruins 
of  a  burying-yard  and  a  mound  which  some  one  eager  to 
find  treasure  had  dug  into.  It  was  lonely  enough  now, 
and  the  very  paradise  for  a  hermit.  Well  satisfied  with 
the  spot,  Guthlac  went  back  to  Repton,  bade  his  brother- 
monks  good-bye,  and  in  three  months'  time,  with  two 
boys,  hastened  to  his  retreat  in  the  marshland.  This 
was  in  699.  That  the  love  for  solitude  ran  in  the  family, 
or  that  the  example  thus  set  was  contagious,  is  shown 
by  Guthlac's  sister  Pega  later  in  life  taking  up  her  abode 
as  a  recluse  in  another  part  of  the  fens  four  leagues  off 
to  the  west — a  good  soul,  by  the  way,  whose  sanctity 
was  shown  both  by  her  sufferings  of  cold  and  hunger 
at  Pegeland  and  by  the  bells  of  Rome  ringing  of  their 
own  accord  for  one  hour  on  her  entering  that  city. 

Amongst  the  ruins  of  the  graveyard  Guthlac  built  his 
hut  and  began  his  hermit-life.  Before  long  his  peace 
was  disturbed.  We  shall  probably  say  that  the  wisp- 
fires  and  the  wild  sounds  of  winter  nights  among  the 
fens,  together  with  intermittent  attacks  of  marsh-fever 
and  the  constant  practice  of  severe  penances,  caused  the 
fancies  of  fiendish  visitation  and  onslaught ;  but  Guthlac, 
like  St.  Antony,  St.  Dunstan  and  Martin  Luther,  was  sat- 
isfied of  the  objective  presence  and  the  physical  assaults 
of  the  prince  of  evil  and  of  myriads  of  his  imps.  The 
place,  indeed,  swarmed  with  clouds  of  demons  whose 
wicked  delight  was  to  provoke  and  beguile  poor  hon- 
est Guthlac.  They  danced  and  sang  on  the  roof  of  his 
cell,  appeared  to  him  in  divers  forms,  played  him  all 
sorts  of  unpleasant*  tricks — such  as  tossing  him  into 
muddy  streams  and  dragging  him  through  thorny  thick- 


264  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

ets — and  once  they  seized  him  bodily  and  carried  him 
off  to  the  icy  North  and  showed  him  the  gates  of  hell. 
This  last  exploit  proved  wellnigh  fatal  to  the  unfortunate 
man,  for  his  adversaries  had  previously  scourged  him 
with  iron  whips  and  frightened  him  with  many  perplex- 
ing sights,  but  he  had  presence  enough  of  mind  to  dare 
them  to  drop  him  into  the  burning  pit,  and  in  a  moment 
his  patron  and  protector,  St.  Bartholomew,  came  in  glory 
to  the  rescue.  He  made  the  demons  carry  the  good  man 
back  again  to  the  home  in  the  wild.  On  the  way  Guth- 
lac  heard  angels  singing  and  playing  their  harps. 

The  hermit  wore  skins  instead  of  linen  or  wool,  and 
had  one  daily  meal  only,  of  bread  and  water ;  but  even 
this  meagre  food  was  not  pleasing  to  the  imps  of  dark- 
ness. Two  of  them  one  day  appeared  to  him  in  human 
form  and  tempted  him  to  stand  on  his  feet  and  abstain 
from  all  refreshment  for  six  days.  They  argued  that  as 
God  formed  the  world  in  six  days  and  rested  on  the  sev- 
enth day,  so  man  ought  to  replenish  his  spirit  by  fasting 
six  days,  and  eat  on  the  seventh  day  for  the  refreshment 
of  his  body.  But  Guthlac  retained  his  faith  and  cheer- 
fulness, and  was  not  to  be  caught  napping.  He  replied, 
"  Let  them  be  turneci  backward  who  seek  my  soul  to 
destroy  it;"  and  when  the  evil  spirits  retired,  filling  that 
region  with  sad  lamentations,  Guthlac  ate  his  barley- 
bread  in  peace. 

After  a  while  these  ghostly  enemies  were  effectually 
vanquished,  and  Guthlac  had  some  leisure  to  devote  to 
the  friendship  of  the  brute  creation  around  him.  The 
fowls  of  the  air  soon  became  familiar  with  him ;  the 
timid  swallows  perched  upon  his  shoulders  and  knees 
and  nestled  in  confidence  within  the  thatch  of  his  lowly 


ST.    GUTHLAC  AND.  CROYLAND.  265 

dwelling.  Even  the  wild  birds  would  eat  from  his 
hands,  and  the  fishes  of  the  marsh  would  swim  to  the 
banks  and  take  worms  and  crumbs  from  his  fingers. 
Thus,  like  the  saint  of  Assisi  in  later  times,  he  recov- 
ered that  communion  with  the  lower  creation  which  pop- 
ular opinion  long  held  had  been  lost  at  the  time  of  the 
Fall  in  Eden.  He  may  even  have  been  able  to  disci- 
pline his  feathered  friends  as  others  did  theirs.  A  peni- 
tent raven — for  aught  we  know,  some  kin  to  the  famous 
Jackdaw  of  Rheims — once  presented  St.  Cuthbert  with 
a  large  piece  of  lard  such  as  was  used  for  greasing 
wheels,  by  way  of  atonement  for  having  pulled  some 
straw  out  of  his  roof  in  order  to  build  a  nest.  Possibly 
Guthlac  had  read  of  the  ravens  feeding  Paul  and  Antony 
in  the  Egyptian  wilderness  as  they  did  Elijah  at  the  brook 
Cherith ;  possibly,  also,  of  the  burial  of  Paul,  already 
referred  to ;  any  way,  the  love  of  the  hermit  of  Croy- 
land  for  the  birds  and  the  fishes  does  his  heart  credit 
and  speaks  well  for  the  gentleness  and  humanity  of  his 
character.  He  who  could  win  the  affection  of  the  cold- 
blooded pike  which  lived  in  the  black  stream  ought  to 
be  able  to  win  all  men's  esteem.  When  his  friend  Wil- 
frid expressed  surprise  at  the  kindliness  existing  between 
Guthlac  and  the  fowl,  Guthlac  said,  "  He  who  in  clean- 
ness of  heart  is  one  with  God,  all  things  are  one  with 
him ;  he  who  denies  himself  the  converse  of  men  wins 
the  converse  of  birds  and  beasts  and  the  company  of 
angels." 

Besides  the  power  to  subdue  demons  and  to  win 
brutes,  the  recluse  had  also  the  gift  of  discerning  spir- 
its. A  cleric  named  Beccelin  came  to  live  with  him  as 
his  servant — a  man  evidently  of  a  covetous  disposition 


266  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

and  of  evil  impulses.  He  envied  Guthlac  his  fame  and 
his  possessions,  and  one  day,  when  he  was  shaving  his 
master,  the  temptation  came  sorely  upon  him  to  cut  his 
throat.  Guthlac  read  his  servant's  mind,  and  immediately 
bade  him  "  spit  out  the  venom  "  of  this  wicked  thought. 
The  man  fell  on  his  knees  and  confessed  all. 

With  the  sanctity  of  Guthlac  his  renown  increased 
and  his  power  of  seclusion  diminished.  Pilgrims  came 
to  consult  with  him,  to  obtain  an  interest  in  his  prayers 
and  benedictions,  and  to  see  for  themselves  so  exalted 
an  example  of  devotion.  At  his  knees  knelt  visitors 
of  all  kinds — princes,  bishops,  abbots  and  monks,  lordly 
thegns  and  poor  serfs,  not  only  from  the  neighboring  dis- 
tricts of  Mercia,  but  also  from  the  remoter  parts  of  Britain. 
They  told  him  of  their  sorrows  and  their  perplexities,  and 
the  man  who,  his  disciple  said,  was  never  angry,  excited  or 
sad,  comforted  and  counselled  them  and  filled  the  hungry 
heart  with  good  things.  Thus,  like  Antony  in  the  des- 
ert and  Cuthbert  at  Fame,  he  exercised  his  ministry  of 
consolation  and  showed  that  "  the  superstitious  form 
impressed  by  circumstances  upon  his  devotion  had  not 
dulled  his  moral  insight  nor  chilled  his  discriminating 
sympathy."  About  704,  Heddi,  bishop  of  Lichfield, 
visited  Croyland ;  and  when  he  had  been  refreshed  with 
the  conversation  of  the  recluse,  he  gave  him  ordination. 
Ethelbald,  a  prince  of  his  own  noble  family,  when  bit- 
terly pursued  by  his  king  fled  to  Guthlac  for  advice  and 
for  protection.  The  hermit  both  admonished  him  and 
prophesied  that  ere  long  he  should  sit  upon  the  throne 
of  Mercia ;  whereupon  Ethelbald  is  said  to  have  vowed 
that  so  soon  as  he  attained  to  this  exalted  honor  he 
would  upon  that  spot  build  and  endow  a  monastery  to 


ST.    GUTHLAC  AND   CROYLAND.  267 

the  praise  of  almighty  God,  and  to  the  memory  of  his 
good  Father  and  confessor  Guthlac. 

There  is  no  need  to  suppose  that  a  direct  miracle  was 
wrought  in  the  conversion  of  the  mere  of  reeds  and  rushes 
in  which  Guthlac  planted  the  cross  into  a  pleasant  and 
habitable  island.  In  the  exuberance  of  their  piety  the 
old  chroniclers  ignored  all  that  men  did  to  make  the 
wilderness  rejoice  and  blossom  as  the  rose,  regarding  the 
means  used  as  insignificant  beside  the  blessings  which 
God  gave.  The  Venerable  Bede  tells  of  marvellous 
things  which  Cuthbert  did  ;  and  when  a  region  once 
waste  and  dreary  had  been  made  delightful  to  the  eye 
and  useful  to  the  wants  of  man,  the  old  monks  loved  to 
think  of  it  as  done  rather  in  some  supernatural  way 
than  as  the  result  of  their  own  toil  and  foresight.  Yet 
the  hermit  could  not  abide  in  his  solitude  without  hard 
work.  He  had  to  labor  for  his  daily  bread  even  in  the 
fenland  teeming  with  wildfowl  and  with  fish.  Provision 
had  to  be  made  against  the  storms  of  winter  and  the 
chills  of  night,  and  he  who  lived  in  the  marsh  had  to 
watch  and  prepare  for  the  rising  of  the  water.  Other 
solitaries  had  been  wiser  than  Guthlac.  Fifty  years 
earlier  Saxulf  had  gone  into  the  same  district,  but,  with 
more  practical  worldliness,  he  had  chosen  the  pleasant 
and  fruitful  Medeshamsted,  where  later  arose  the  abbey 
of  Peterborough.  But  Guthlac  seemed  to  have  aimed 
in  getting  where  there  would  be  little  possibility  of 
improvement  unless  God  wrought  some  extraordinary 
wonder.  He  did  not  seek  to  found  a  community  such 
as  that  which  afterward  had  its  home  on  the  islet  con- 
secrated by  his  austerities.  The  labor,  therefore,  of 
reducing   the   spot   so   that   man  could  live  there  was 


268  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISrORY. 

necessarily  great ;  that  it  was  done  well  was  due  both  to 
the  Providence  who  gave  the  will  and  the  strength  and 
to  the  man  who  used  the  gifts  given.  Before  Guthlac 
passed  away  the  number  of  those  who  resorted  to  his 
seclusion  was  great.  Many  of  them  remained  and  built 
huts  and  houses  close  by  his,  and  thus  little  by  little  the 
earth  was  saved  from  the  wilderness. 

Whatever  interpretation  we  put  upon  the  stories  of 
his  ghostly  combats — whether  they  were  inventions  of 
his  own  over-excited  brain  or  of  the  over-excited  imag- 
ination of  his  biographer — it  does  not  mar  the  undoubted 
beauty  and  truth  of  Guthlac's  character.  Severe  as  was 
his  asceticism,  it  was  mild  compared  with  that  in  which 
some  indulged — perhaps  much  to  the  admiration  of 
their  contemporaries,  certainly  to  the  disgust  and  horror 
of  the  people  of  later  ages.  Writing,  indeed,  long  after 
his  time,  but  recording  the  popular  tradition  concerning 
him,  Matthew  of  Westminster  says,  **  If  I  were  to  desire 
to  give  a  full  account  of  all  the  virtues  of  this  holy  man, 
it  would  be  an  undertaking  resembling  that  of  beginning 
to  count  the  sands  of  the  sea."  And,  lest  the  testimony 
of  one  writing  in  the  thirteenth  century  be  thought  too 
late  to  have  much  value,  hear  the  opinion  of  a  biog- 
rapher of  the  eighth  century,  the  monk  Felix  of  Yar- 
row :  "  The  blessed  man  Guthlac  was  a  chosen  man  in 
divine  deeds  and  a  treasure  of  all  wisdom,  and  he  was 
steadfast  in  his  duties,  as  also  he  was  earnestly  intent 
on  Christ's  service ;  so  that  never  was  aught  else  in  his 
mouth  but  Christ's  praise,  nor  in  his  heart  but  virtue, 
nor  in  his  mind  but  peace  and  love  and  pity ;  nor  did 
any  man  ever  see  him  angry  or  slothful  to  Christ's  ser- 
vice, but  one  might  ever  perceive  in  his   countenance 


9r.    GUTHLAC  AND   CROYLAND.  269 

love  and  peace,  and  evermore  sweetness  was  in  his 
temper  and  wisdom  in  his  breast';  and  there  was  so 
much  cheerfulness  in  him  that  he  always  appeared  alike 
to  acquaintances  and  to  strangers."  Notwithstanding 
Brother  Felix's  conventional  hagiological  style,  there 
must  have  been  some  merit  in  the  man  to  occasion 
such  unqualified  praise. 

But  a  life  under  such  severe  physical  conditions  could 
not  last  long.  Fourteen  years  of  exposure  to  the  chills 
and  the  damps  of  the  fen- wilds  put  a  period  to  the  days 
of  the  enthusiastic  Guthlac.  In  the  deserts  of  Egypt 
men  lived  to  great  ages,  but  no  constitution  could  resist 
the  trying  conditions  of  the  Mercian  marshes.  On  the 
Wednesday  of  Easter  week,  April  11,  714,  at  the  age  of 
forty-one,  the  son  of  Penwald  and  Tette  quietly  and 
easily  passed  away,  and  Eadburga,  daughter  of  King 
Aldwulf  and  abbess  of  Repton,  sent  him  a  leaden  sar- 
cophagus and  a  shroud.  A  few  years  later  was  fulfilled 
his  prophecy  concerning  Ethelbald,  the  man  who  knew 
how  to  wait :  the  son  of  Alweo  sat  upon  the  throne  of 
Odin  and  of  Offa. 

It  now  remained  for  the  new  and  powerful  king  to  do 
after  his  promise,  and  to  build  a  house  of  prayer  in  that 
lonely  place.  A  dismal  region  indeed  !  "  There  are  im- 
mense marshes,  now  a  black  pool  of  water,  now  foul-run- 
ning streams,  and  also  many  islands  and  reeds  and  hillocks 
and  thickets."  So  our  good  brother  Felix  said  a  thou- 
sand years  since,  and,  in  the  reign  of  James  I.,  Camden 
wrote,  "  This  Crowland  lies  in  the  fenns,  so  enclos'd  and 
encompass'd  with  deep  bogs  and  pools  that  there  is  no 
access  to  it  but  on  the  north  and  east  side,  and  these  by 
narrow  causeys."     It  has  long  since  been  drained,  and 


270  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTCMY. 

Croyland  is  no  longer  an  island  in  a  marsh,  but  a  quaint 
old-fashioned  town-  in  the  midst  of  a  wide  and  fertile 
plain. 

Ethelbald,  though  a  prince  who  Cacsar-like  made 
himself  master  of  all  England  south  of  the  H umber, 
and  Charles-like  made  himself  a  scandal  to  his  age,  set 
honestly  to  work.  He  had  received  several  admonitions 
of  his  duty.  While  still  an  exile  and  grieving  over  the 
death  of  Guthlac,  the  holy  man  appeared  and  both 
rejoiced  and  encouraged  him.  Then  Guthlac  wrought 
signs  and  wonders.  At  his  grave  miracles  were  done, 
and  a  renown  greater  than  ever  went  from  hence  through- 
out the  land.  It  was  impossible  for  Ethelbald  to  mis- 
take the  signs  of  the  times.  He  sent  to  the  distant 
Evesham  for  Kenulph,  a  monk  known  for  his  religious 
life  and  executive  ability,  and  to  him  he  committed  the 
rule  and  care  of  the  new  house.  Then  boats  full  of 
earth  were  brought  from  a  distance  of  nine  miles  to 
make  a  foundation,  piles  of  oak  and  beech  in  countless 
numbers  were  driven  into  the  marsh,  and  in  two  or  three 
years'  time  a  stone  structure  was  erected,  and  the  breth- 
ren of  St.  Guthlac  took  possession  of  their  new  home 
in  the  name  and  under  the  protection  of  St.  Mary  and 
St.  Bartholomew.  Needless  to  say,  the  monks  made 
good  use  of  their  possessions.  They  speedily  converted 
the  pools  around  their  dwelling  into  fruitful  meadow- 
land,  raised  their  house  to  a  position  of  influence  and 
dignity,  and  encouraged  pilgrimages  to  the  tomb  within 
which  lay  the  precious  relics  of  their  founder. 

Brother  Kenulph  came  from  a  remarkable  place.  On 
a  wild  and  lonely  holm  covered  with  thorns  and  bushes 
and  washed  by  the  waters  of  that  Avon  which  has  since 


ST.    GUTHLAC  AND   CROYLAND.  2/1 

been  associated  with  the  Warwickshire  bard  was  a  small 
ancient  church.  The  bishop  of  Worcester  at  the  time 
that  St.  Guthlac  was  struggling  with  the  spirits  and  fogs 
of  Croyland  was  Egwine,  a  man  whose  earnestness  and 
eloquence  in  proclaiming  the  gospel  of  Christ  did  not 
hinder  him  from  coveting  the  calm  life  of  the  monastery. 
He  was  seeking  for  a  place  where  he  might  found  a  house 
of  rest,  when  one  day  his  herdsman,  Eoves,  told  of  a  vis- 
ion he  had  seen  at  the  old  church  on  the  holm.  Accord- 
ing to  his  story,  the  Blessed  Virgin  had  appeared  to  him 
brighter  than  the  sun,  holding  a  book  and  singing  heav- 
enly songs  with  two  other  virgins.  Next  morning  the 
bishop,  attended  by  three  companions,  went  barefoot  to 
the  place  and  saw  the  same  vision  ;  whereupon  he  deter- 
mined to  build  a  minster  in  her  honor.  The  selection 
displayed  remarkable  taste :  both  for  fertility  and  for 
scenery  the  region  was  all  that  could  be  desired.  If 
only  poor  Guthlac  had  had  visions  of  virgins  instead 
of  having  visions  of  demons,  he  too  might  have  fared 
better.  In  the  very  year — 714 — in  which  the  life  of 
Guthlac  flowed  away  like  the  streams  which  by  his  hut 
amidst  the  reeds  tended  seaward,  Egwine  went  into  his 
completed  home  in  the  smiling  valley  watered  by  the 
silvery  Avon.  The  holm  of  Eoves,  or  Eoves-holm, 
later  Evesham,  was  destined  to  have  one  of  the  greatest 
of  the  religious  houses  of  Mid-England,  and  it  was  not  an 
ill-stroke  of  policy  that  led  Ethelbald — or,  to  be  cautious 
on- that  point,  the  chronicler — to  associate  Croyland  and 
Evesham  together.  Brother  Kenulph  evidently  did  his 
part  well.  He  gathered  around  him  brethren,  among 
whom  were  Cissa,  Bettelm  and  Egbert,  disciples  of 
Guthlac,  and  our  old  friend  Tatwin  the  fisherman,  who 


272  READINGS  IN   CHURCH  HISTORY. 

had  guided  the  saint  to  the  haunted  island.  Good  sis- 
ter Pega  brought  to  the  abbot  rehcs  of  her  renowned 
brother — the  Psalter  out  of  which  he  used  to  sing  his 
praises,  and  the  scourge  of  St.  Bartholomew  with  which 
he  administered  discipline  to  his  sinful  body.  If  we 
could  believe  the  chronicler — and  on  this  point  his  tes- 
timony is  as  near  false  as  it  could  very  well  be — we 
should  give  great  honor  to  Ethelbald,  king  of  the  Mer- 
cians, because  of  his  own  gratuitous  will  and  consent  he 
did  both  lavishly  and  unmistakably  endow  the  holy  sanc- 
tuary of  St.  Guthlac  with  wide  lands  and  great  wealth. 

The  rule  which  the  brethren  of  Croyland  adopted 
was  that  of  St.  Benedict.  This  great  reformer  of  mon- 
achism  was  born  at  Nursia  in  480,  and  died  in  543. 
He  never  received  ordination,  but  from  his  boyhood  he 
adopted  the  retired  life.  When  fourteen  years  old,  he 
withdrew  to  a  cave  near  Subiaco,  and  remained  there 
for  three  years,  unknown  to  all  except  an  ancient  monk 
who  supplied  him  with  bread  and  water  by  letting  them 
down  to  him  in  an  old  bell  tied  to  the  end  of  a  rope. 
Sensualism  the  youthful  anchoret  sought  to  overcome 
by  rolling  naked  in  the  thorn-bushes.  At  the  age  of 
thirty  he  became  abbot  of  a  community  at  Vicovaro,  but 
his  rule  was  such  that  the  brethren  attempted  to  poison 
him.  He  left  them  and  began  to  gather  those  who 
desired  to  Hve  the  higher  life  into  groups  of  ten,  ap- 
pointing over  each  group  a  dean  and  himself  retain- 
ing the  supremacy.  In  528  he  left  Subiaco  and  took 
possession  of  an  ancient  temple  of  Apollo  on  Monte 
Casino,  where  he  founded  the  house  from  which  the 
many  thousands  of  Benedictine  monasteries  took  their 
origin.     Here  he  perfected  his  famous  "  rule  "  and  gave 


ST.    GUTHLAC  AND   CROYLAND.  273 

to   monachism  a  life  and  a  work  far  higher  than    had 
yet  belonged  to  the  system. 

The  prominent  feature  of  the  "rule"  was  the  prac- 
tical and  wise  manner  in  which  it  provided  for  rigid 
order.  It  made  provision  that  every  member  of  the 
community  should  be  profitably  employed.  Six  hours 
in  the  day  were  given  to  manual  labor ;  gifts  and  talents 
were  recognized  and  officers  were  designated — some  to 
rule,  some  to  attend  to  household  duties  and  some  to 
see  that  each  man  properly  accomplished  his  labor. 
The  abbot's  authority  was  subject  only,  and  in  a  lim- 
ited degree,  to  the  brethren  assembled  in  chapter.  He 
appointed  the  prior,  the  almoner,  the  sacristan,  the  cham- 
berlain, the  cellarer,  the  hospitaller,  the  master  of  the  in- 
firmary and  the  head-chaunter,  who  in  turn  directed  the 
services  of  the  brethren  in  their  respective  departments. 
Everything  was  done  to  make  the  establishment  com- 
plete within  itself;  by  its  running  stream  was  the  mill, 
and  near  at  hand  were  the  workshops,  bakehouse,  brew- 
house  and  garden.  Schools  for  the  instruction  of  the 
young  were  also  established,  and  while  some  of  the 
brethren  ploughed  the  fields  and  ground  the  corn,  oth- 
ers went  abroad  to  transact  the  business  of  the  abbey 
and  to  preach  the  gospel.  There  was  thus  little  op- 
portunity for  that  idleness  and  melancholia  which  had 
too  often  marred  the  exercise  of  the  older  monachism. 
Times  were  appointed  for  divine  services,  and  great  art 
and  much  beauty  were  displayed  in  the  building  of  the 
church,  the  chapter-house  and  the  refectory.  The  breth- 
ren wore  black  serge  gowns;  hence  they  were  sometinjes 
called  "  the  black  monks."  Throughout  the  history  of 
this  the  richest  and  most  extensive  of  orders  a  singular 

18 


274  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

wisdom  guided  its  members  to  select  the  most  lovely- 
sites  for  their  houses.  They  delighted  in  raising  their 
walls  in  picturesque  woods  and  by  the  side  of  winding 
rivers  or  rushing  streams.  The  finest  abbeys  of  the  Ben- 
edictines in  all  England,  however,  were  in  the  fenland. 
There  was  this  one  under  the  care  of  St.  Guthlac,  where 
the  people  said  every  wain  that  came  thither  was  shod 
with  silver,  no  wheeled  carriage  being  possible.  Among 
them  all  there  was  none  more  glorious  than 

"  Crowland,  as  courteous  as  courteous  may  be." 

In  the  work  known   as  the  History  of  the  Abbey  of 
Croylaiid,  Abbot  Ingulph  is  made  to  give  most  interest- 
ing pictures  of  the  mode  of  life  and  the  order  observed 
within  the  sacred  precincts.     The  care  taken  of  the  old 
monks  displayed   marvellous  tenderness  and  Christian 
love.     When  they  who  had  borne  the  heat  and  burden 
of  the  day  were  past  the  ability  for  active  labor,  they 
had  a  good  chamber  furnished  them  in  the  infirmary, 
and  had  a  servant  specially  appointed  to  wait  upon  them. 
The  prior  was  to  send  to  each  old  man  every  day  a 
young  monk  to  be  his  companion  and  to  breakfast  and 
dine  with  him.      He  was  to  follow  his   own  will  and 
pleasure — to   sit  at  home  or  to  walk  out,  to  visit  the 
cloisters,  the  refectory,  the  dormitory,  or  any  other  part 
of  the  monastery,  in  his  monk's  dress  or  without  it,  just 
as  he  pleased.     Nothing  unpleasant  about  the  affairs  of 
the   monastery  was   to   be   mentioned   in   his  presence. 
Every  one  was   charged  to  avoid  giving  him   offence, 
and  everything  was  to  be  done  for  his  comfort  of  mind 
and  body  that  he  might  in  the  utmost  peace  and  quiet- 
ness wait  for  his  latter  end. 


ST.    GUTHLAC  AND   CROYLAND.  2/5 

The  mention  of  Abbot  Tngulph  suggests  the  beginning 
of  difficulty.     In  the  early  part  of  the  fifteenth  century 
the    monks    of  Croyland  were    called  upon    to   defend 
some  of  their  possessions    claimed  by  the  people   of 
Spalding.     The  latter,  moved  by  evil  spirits,  presumed 
to  fish  in  waters  and  to  cut  down  sedge  and  bulrushes 
in  marshes  belonging  to  St.  Guthlac.     It  was  not  the 
first  time  that  Satan  had  busied  himself  to  the  injury 
and  detriment  of  the  brethren,  but  now  the  quarrel  so 
increased  and  the  tempest  waxed  so   mightily  that  an 
appeal   had  to  be  made  to  the  king.      The  people  of 
Hoyland,  too,  "just  like  so  many  ravening  dogs,"  took 
possession  of  an  island  within  the  metes  and  boundaries 
of  the  abbey  of  Croyland ;  and  all  this  notwithstanding 
the  fact  that  the  abbot,  "  in  presence  of  the  whole  con- 
vent, upon  a  solemn  festival  of  note,  did  publicly  and 
solemnly  fulminate  sentence  of  excommunication  at  the 
doors  of  the  church  against  all  persons  whatsoever  who 
should  infringe  the  liberties  of  the  church  of  St.  Guth- 
lac, or  should  unjustly  plunder  its  property  or  presume 
rashly  to  invade  its  possessions."     Then,  in  the  year  of 
grace  141 5,  the  prior,  Richard  Upton,  having  "  manfully 
girded   up   his   loins  as  though  about  to  fight  against 
beasts,"  went  up  to  London  to  plead  for  the  rights  of 
his  house.     Here  he  spent  two  years  before  he  could 
bring  the  dispute   to   a  satisfactory  issue,   and   during 
those  two  years,  besides  waiting  upon  the  state  author- 
ities— tell  it  not  in  Gath,  publish"  it  not  in  the  streets  of 
Askelon — it  is   highly  probable  he  and   his  colleagues 
prepared  those  weapons  which  in  the  end  discomfited 
the  adversary  and  secured  the  patrimony  of  St.  Guth- 
lac.    This  work  was  none  other  than  the  composition 


2/6  READIN-GS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

of  a  chronicle  of  the  abbey  from  its  earliest  days,  most 
interestingly  written,  full  of  picturesque  stories  and 
charming  incidents,  but,  alas !  nothing  better  than  *  a 
novel  founded  on  fact."  Some  truth  it  certainly  has, 
as  all  historical  romances  have,  but  with  the  truth  it 
contains  a  series  of  annals  and  charters  which  though 
long  accepted  as  genuine  are  now  known  to  be  false. 
These  charters  are  the  deeds  of  kings  and  prelates — 
lavish  in  their  liberality  and  emphatic  in  their  language 
— making,  confirming  or  acknowledging  the  grants  to 
Croyland.  One  of  the  documents  contains  the  follow- 
ing healthful  and  vigorous  preamble  and  conclusion : 
*'  Inasmuch  as  the  Egyptians  naturally  abominate  all 
feeders  of  sheep,  and  the  sons  of  darkness  with  unre- 
lenting fury  persecute  the  sons  of  light  (for  at  all  times 
Midian  is  devising  how  to  injure  the  people  of  the 
Lord),"  etc.,  therefore  whosoever  shall  presume  to 
strip  the  house  of  Croyland  of  its  possessions  or  to 
disturb  the  peace  of  the  brethren  thereof,  "  we  " — that 
is  to  say,  the  gentlemen  who  sign  the  deed — "  do  from 
that  time  forward  excommunicate  the  same,  do  remove 
their  names  from  the  book  of  life,  and,  separating  them 
from  the  companionship  of  the  saints  and  driving  them 
afar  from  the  threshold  of  heaven,  do,  unless  they  shall, 
by  making  due  satisfaction,  speedily  correct  their  errors, 
immediately  consign  them  for  their  demerits  to  be  con- 
demned with  the  traitor  Judas  to  the  flames  of  hell."  Still, 
this  plain  statement  of  consequences  did  not  secure  peace 
to  the  fraternity ;  nor  did  many  another  made  by  kings 
who  reigned  **  under  the  King  who  ruleth  above  the  stars." 
The  book,  full  of  forgeries  as  it  is,  has  a  value  as 
indicating  the  mind  and  the  temper  of  the  men  of  the 


ST.    GUTHLAC  AND   CROYLAND.  2// 

fifteenth  century.  Whether  their  predecessors  seven  hun- 
dred years  earher  would  have  sanctioned  such  measures 
wherewith  to  secure  that  property  which  had  been  saved 
from  the  wilderness  is  another  thing :  probably  they 
would  not;  but  it  is  interesting  to  see  how  in  an  age 
when  people  invented  miracles  and  shaped  relics  by  the 
heap  they  did  not  hesitate  to  forge  a  charter  or  a  record. 
In  this  case  the  work  was  but  clumsily  performed,  yet  it 
won  the  suit  for  the  monks.  It  cost  the  abbey  the  large 
outlay  of  five  hundred  pounds  to  complete  the  imposition; 
and  when  it  was  done,  the  prior's  confidential  lawyer  was 
one  night  *'  extremely  sad  and  disquieted  in  spirit."  He 
could  not  sleep  "by  reason  of  revolving  many  things  in 
his  mind."  The  prior  also  was  unwell,  but,  lest  it  might 
be  supposed  that  his  disturbance  arose  from  the  work- 
ings of  conscience  or  from  excitement  at  the  anticipated 
success  of  the  fraud,  we  are  expressly  told  that  he  was 
sick  :  "  his  stomach,  as  though  through  indignation,  refused 
to  retain  anything  that  was  offered  to  it."  "  Indignation  " 
is  not  a  misprint  for  "  indigestion,"  which  the  modern 
reader  might  suppose  would  naturally  arise  from  the 
prior's  close  application  to  this  "  perplexed  labyrinth  of 
agonizing  toil :"  the  good  man  was  righteously  pro- 
voked at  the  people  who  would  infringe  upon  the  liber- 
ties and  possessions  of  the  church  of  St.  Guthlac.  That 
night,  however,  the  serjeant-at-law,  Master  William 
Ludyngton,  was  greatly  troubled,  and  for  long  his  sleep 
went  from  him.  Then  came  a  gentle  slumber — per- 
chance the  chronicler  would  have  us  think  the  slumber 
as  of  a  child,  pure  and  simple — and  as  he  slept,  behold ! 
beside  him  stood  the  venerable  form  of  the  hermit  of 
Croyland.     The  saint  bade  him  be  of  good  comfort,  to 


27 S  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

relax  his  limbs  in  repose,  and  to  be  sure  that  in  the 
morning  prosperity  would  smile  upon  him  according 
to  his  will  and  pleasure.  Triumph,  indeed,  speedily 
followed.  The  law  gave  Croyland  its  alleged  rights. 
No  one  knew  anything  against  the  integrity  of  the 
brethren :  they  were  as  innocent  as  the  gentle  offspring 
of  the  sheep  on  whose  skins  they  had  written  their 
ancient  charters ;  and  both  the  prior  and  his  friends 
returned  abundant  thanksgivings  to  God  for  the  divine 
consolation  which  had  been  granted  to  them  from  heav- 
en. Soon  after,  the  abbot — who  had  ruled  over  the 
house  of  Guthlac  for  five  and  twenty  years,  and,  being 
blind  and  well  stricken  in  years,  was  desirous  to  leave 
this  present  and  wicked  world  and  valley  of  tears  for  a 
region  of  everlasting  light  and  peace — fell  ill,  on  the  fes- 
tival of  the  Nativity,  and  "  happily  departed  "  upon  the 
feast  of  St.  Thomas  the  Martyr.  He  was  buried  before 
the  great  altar  of  the  church,  and  with  the  unanimous 
consent  of  the  brethren  Prior  Richard  Upton  reigned 
in  his  stead. 

The  interesting  story  which  gives  us  an  ideal  picture 
of  what  Croyland  might  have  been,  and  shows  us  the 
opinions  and  views  of  men  in  an  age  when  the  glory 
and  the  spirit  of  monachism  were  about  to  pass  away, 
was  alleged  to  have  been  the  compilation  of  Ingulphus, 
the  first  abbot  of  Croyland  after  the  Norman  Conquest. 
He  was  an  Englishman  who  in  the  days  of  Edward  the 
Confessor  had  been  secretary  to  William,  duke  of  Nor- 
mandy. Later  he  went  on  a  pilgrimage  to  Jerusalem, 
and  on  his  return  to  Europe  became  a  monk  in  the 
house  of  St.  Wandrille  at  Fontenelle.  Here,  under  the 
accomplished  abbot  Gerbert,  a  German  by  birth  and  a 


ST.    GUTHLAC  AND   CROYLAND.  279 

great  philosopher,  he  received  his  learning  and  rose  to 
the  rank  of  prior.  In  1085  the  Conqueror  appointed 
him  to  the  abbatial  stall  of  Croyland,  then  vacant  by 
the  deposition  of  Ulfcytel.  Here  he  ruled  in  peace  and 
prosperity  for  twenty-four  years,  securing  for  his  abbey 
many  valuable  privileges  and  immunities  and  enlarging 
and  repairing  its  buildings.  Though  of  a  sickly  consti- 
tution, he  was  vigorous  in  mind  and  firm  in  spirit.  His 
reign  was  one  of  the  most  celebrated  in  the  annals  of 
Croyland,  and  his  exalted  reputation,  both  as  a  scholar 
and  as  an  ecclesiastic,  made  it  worth  while  to  claim  him 
as  the  author  of  the  history.  The  book  was  indeed 
made  to  have  some  appearance  of  truth,  and,  faulty  as 
it  is,  uncertain  and  untrue  as  much  of  it  is,  we  have  in 
it  a  charming  picture  of  ancient  times.  But  there  is 
none  of  Ingulph's  work  in  it,  only  an  understratum  of 
an  authentic  account  of  the  abbey  written  by  his  con- 
temporary Orderic.  Doubtless  the  life  of  Guthlac  by 
Felix,  and  other  chronicles,  which  have  now  perished, 
were  used ;  but  Orderic's  account  is  alone  all  that  can 
be  certainly  traced.  Nor  are  the  "  continuations "  of 
either  greater  or  less  value. 

Though  secluded  in  the  wilderness  far  away  from  the 
busy  haunts  of  men,  Croyland  passed  through  many 
vicissitudes  in  the  course  of  its  life  of  seven  hundred 
years.  Miracles  did  not  give  it  an  immunity  from 
oppression  and  wrong,  notwithstanding  it  is  said  of  the 
multitudes  of  the  sick  who  flocked  daily  to  the  tomb  of 
St.  Guthlac,  *'  The  Lord  so  plentifully  opened  unto  them 
all  the  fountains  of  his  healthful  mercies  that  sometimes 
in  one  day  more  than  a  hundred  persons  so  paralyzed 
were  healed."     Ever  and  anon  the  heathen  raged,  the 


28o  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

people  imagined  a  vain  thing,  and  the  patrimony  of  St. 
Guthlac  suffered  evil. 

In  the  autumn  of  the  year  870  the  community  came 
very  near  utter  extinction.  At  that  time  the  pagan 
Danes  were  overrunning  the  land ;  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Croyland  they  had  wrought  such  ruin  that  the  people 
made  a  desperate  effort  to  withstand  them.  An  army 
was  gathered  together,  including  two  hundred  "  very 
stout  warriors  "  from  Croyland  under  the  command  of 
Brother  Toley,  once  most  renowned  throughout  all 
Mercia  for  his  military  skill,  but  who  had  lately, 
"  through  the  desire  of  a  heavenly  country,  given  up 
secular  for  spiritual  warfare  at  Croyland."  The  struggle 
went  on  with  varying  success,  but  ended  in  the  death  of 
Brother  Toley  and  many  of  his  brave  band.  The  abbot 
had  just  time  to  send  into  the  adjoining  fens  some  of 
the  brethren  with  the  "  most  holy  body  of  St.  Guthlac  " 
and  a  kvj  other  relics,  when  the  fierce  barbarians  broke 
into  the  sacred  precincts.  Not  only  did  the  Danes 
plunder  the  shrines  of  the  saints  and  heap  together  the 
consecrated  treasures  in  a  huge  fire,  but  they  also  killed 
the  venerable  abbot  and  those  of  his  brethren  who  had 
not  taken  refuge  in  flight.  One  human  being  only  escaped 
— little  Brother  Turgar,  a  child  beautiful  in  face  and 
person,  and  ten  years  old.  When  the  boy  saw  Lethwyn, 
the  aged  subprior,  struck "  down,  he  earnestly  begged 
that  he  too  might  be  put  to  death ;  but  one  of  the 
Danish  earls,  Sidroc  the  Younger,  had  pity  on  him,  and, 
throwing  over  him  a  long  Danish  tunic,  spared  and  pro- 
tected his  life.  The  rude  chief  seems  to  have  learned  to 
love  the  helpless  lad.  He  watched  over  him  during  the 
ensuing  scenes  of  terrible  carnage,  and  won  the  grati- 


S7\    GU  Til  LAC  AND   CROYLAND.  28 1 

tude,  though  not  the  affection,  of  his  protege.  Within 
a  week  after  leaving  Croyland,  an  opportunity  offering, 
Brother  Turgar,  as  the  chronicler  affectionately  calls 
him,  ran  away  from  his  Danish  friends  into  a  wood,  and, 
walking  all  night,  at  daybreak  again  found  himself 
among  the  ruins  of  Croyland.  The  brethren  who  had 
fled  had  now  returned,  and  were  busy  extinguishing  the 
flames  which  still  had  the  mastery  of  some  parts  of  the 
building.  To  the  trembling  monks  Turgar  told  of  the 
murder  of  the  abbot  and  of  those  who  had  stayed  with 
him.  They  searched  for  the  remains  of  their  brethren, 
and  after  a  long  time,  with  the  exception  of  the  body 
of  Brother  Wulric,  the  taper-bearer,  they  found  them 
and  gave  them  honorable  burial. 

Many  were  the  years  of  trial  before  the  community 
was  able  to  re-establish  itself  and  rebuild  the  walls  of 
its  house.  Only  four  years  later  the  Mercian  king 
Ceolwulph,  "  an  Englishman  by  birth,  but  a  barbarian 
in  impiety,"  having  sworn  fealty  to  the  Danes,  compelled 
Croyland  to  contribute  toward  the  annual  dane^eld  a 
tax  of  one  thousand  pounds,  and  thus  nearly  reduced 
the  monastery  to  a  state  of  destitution.  The  victories 
of  King  Alfred  helped  the  fraternity  somewhat,  but 
prosperity  came  to  them  in  the  year  946  at  the  hands 
of  Turketul,  a  wealthy  and  nobly-born  statesman,  chan- 
cellor of  King  Edred.  On  his  way  to  York  this  great 
man  had  occasion  to  stay  at  the  abbey  of  Croyland ;  the 
brethren  treated  him  with  the  best  of  their  ability,  for  a 
"lord  of  sixty  manors  "  did  not  often  visit  them.  They 
told  him,  also,  of  their  afflictions,  and  not  only  excited 
his  commiseration,  but  also  secured  his  private  assist- 
ance.    When  he  came  back  to  the  south  country,  being 


282  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

"  guided  by  the  Holy  Spirit,"  as  the  chronicler  devoutly 
says,  he  again  visited  Croyland.  He  was  received  with 
extreme  gladness,  and  highly  commended  and  consoled 
the  brethren,  **  reminding  them  that  the  hand  of  the 
Lord  was  always  powerful  and  ready  to  aid  his  people." 
Also  he  conferred  on  the  abbey  the  surname  of  "  Cur- 
teys  "  and  gave  to  the  *'  old  men  "  the  more  substantial 
gift  of  twenty  pounds  of  silver.  Then  Turketul  pur- 
sued his  journey,  but  soon  he  bade  the  king  farewell, 
paid  his  debts,  returned  to  Croyland,  and  on  St.  Barthol- 
omew's day,  948,  became  a  monk.  Bringing  with  him 
his  great  wealth  and  his  powerful  influence,  he  was  at 
once  made  abbot;  and  the  king,  anxious  to  do  some 
good,  completed  the  restoration  of  the  monastery  in  a 
style  most  magnificent.  Many  learned  men  with  Tur- 
ketul assumed  the  monastic  garb. 

In  the  year  974,  Brother  Turgar,  now  venerable  with 
the  weight  of  one  hundred  and  fifteen  years,  having 
been  all  his  life  faithful  to  his  beloved  St.  Guthlac, 
passed  away,  and  the  following  summer  Abbot  Turketul 
caught  a  fever  from  the  intense  heat  of  the  Dog-star, 
and  likewise  died.  The  end  of  this  benefactor  was  full 
of  grace.  Stoutly  for  three  days  did  he  struggle  against 
the  fever  as  "  a  thing  not  in  accordance  with  his  usual 
robust  health,"  but,  the  end  being  inevitable,  he  gathered 
around  him  the  whole  convent,  consisting  of  forty-seven 
monks  and  four  lay-brethren,  and  took  of  them  an  affec- 
tionate farewell.  The  remembrance  of  his  devoutness 
did  not  fade  from  the  memories  of  many  of  them  all 
the  days  of  their  lives.  At  the  hour  of  compline,  the 
day  being  the  translation  of  St.  Benedict,  he  "  quit  the 
labors  of  the  abbacy  for  the  bosom  of  his  father  Abra- 


ST.    GUTIILAC  AND   CROYLAND.  283 

ham."  The  good  man  was  only  sixty-seven  years  old, 
and  his  death  was  all  the  more  lamented  because  since 
St,  Guthlac's  time  the  brethren  had  grown  better  able  to 
withstand  the  fogs  and  the  chills  of  the.  marsh.  In  973, 
Brother  Swarting  died  at  the  ripe  age  of  one  hundred 
and  forty-two. 

The  community  had  now  a  large  and  well-furnished 
church  and  abbey,  and  for  a  time  increased  in  wealth 
and  appeared  to  flourish.  The  chronicler  records  with 
satisfaction  the  good  times  of  Edward  the  Confessor, 
and  in  his  admiration  for  that  saintly  prince  tells  us  that 
when,  in  105 1,  the  king  saw  the  devil  dancing  upon  a 
heap  of  tribute-money  which  had  been  wrongfully  ex- 
acted from  the  people,  he  would  not  touch  the  unhal- 
lowed pile,  but  forthwith  restored  it,  and  for  ever  remit- 
ted the  tax.  But  under  William  the  virulence  of  the 
enemies  of  St.  Guthlac  increased;  "just  as  on  the  body 
of  Behemoth  *  scale  is  joined  to  scale,'  so  did  they  stop 
up  every  breath  of  truth."  How  the  monastery  escaped 
destruction  can  be  accounted  for  only  by  the  superior 
merit  of  St.  Guthlac. 

In  1076  the  brethren  had  a  signal  proof  of  the  divine 
favor.  A  former  bailiff  claimed  as  his  own  certain  lands 
of  the  abbey,  and  the  case  had  to  be  tried  before  the 
king's  officers  at  Stamford.  Let  Ingulph  tell  the  story 
himself:  "On  that  day,  being  about  to  appear  before 
the  king's  justices  on  the  business  of  the  monastery,  I 
commended  myself  to  the  prayers  of  my  brethren,  and, 
putting  my  trust  in  the  Lord,  rode  to  Stamford ;  he  too, 
confiding  -in  the  greatness  of  his  riches  and  placing  all 
his  hopes  in  his  treasures  of  money,  was  riding  on, 
stiff-necked  as  he  was,  against  God,  when,  lo  and  be- 


284  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

hold  !  his  horse,  striking  against  a  stumbling-block  of  a 
stone  that  lay  in  the  middle  of  the  road,  threw  his  rider 
and  broke  his  neck,  and  so  sent  to  hell  the  soul  of  him 
who  was  thus  going  in  his  pride  to  oppose  the  Lord." 
The  excited  feelings  of  the  narrator  must  be  allowed  to 
excuse  his  vehement  language,  but  the  end  was  not  yet : 
*^  On  the  following  day,  when  he  was  being  carried  by 
his  neighbors  and  relatives  on  a  bier  toward  the  convent 
of  Burgh  to  be  buried — a  place  which  he  had  often  be- 
fore named  as  that  of  his  sepulture — those  who  carried 
it  had  to  pass  over  ten  acres  of  the  meadow-land  belong- 
ing to  our  monastery  to  which  he  in  his  lifetime  had  laid 
claim,  when,  behold !  a  most  dense  cfoud  covered  the 
sun  in  his  course,  and  brought  on,  as  it  were,  the  shades 
of  night,  while  the  heavens  poured  forth  such  a  deluge 
of  rain  that  from  the  flowing  of  the  waters  the  days  of 
Noah  were  thought  to  hav^e  come  over  again ;  in  addi- 
tion to  which,  the  bier  suddenly  broke  down,  and  the 
body  of  the  deceased,  falling  to  the  ground,  was  for  a 
long  time  rolled  about  in  the  filthy  mud.  On  seeing 
this  those  who  carried  him  acknowledged  the  hand  of 
the  Lord  and  openly  confessed  their  injustice,  while  his 
relations  and  neighbors  came  running  to  meet  us — who 
at  the  same  moment  had  arrived  from  Stamford — and, 
throwing  themselves  at  our  feet,  entreated  that  pardon 
might  be  granted  them  for  so  outrageous  an  injury 
attended  by  the  manifest  vengeance  of  God.  Returning 
thanks  unto  God  and  Saint  Guthlac  for  their  assistance, 
we  forgave  them  the  injury  they  had  done  us,  and  re- 
ceived from  them  our  meadow-land — all  right  to  which 
they  disclaimed — together  with  all  other  things  in  full 
to  which  we  laid  claim ;  and  we  have  up  to  this  present 


S7:    GUTHLAC  AND   CROYLAND.  285 

time  remained  in  peaceable  possession  of  the  same. 
Blessed  be  God  in  all  things,  who  hath  returned  to  the 
unrighteous  according  to  the  works  of  his  hands,  and 
who  hath  made  foolish  and  rendered  unstable  the  coun- 
sels of  his  heart !" 

The  ability  of  the  chronicler  of  Croyland  to  tell  a 
story  in  an  interesting  and  a  graphic  manner  can  no 
more  be  questioned  than  can  the  self-complacency 
which  appears  in  every  line.  Nothing  that  is  done  for 
the  abbey  is  wrong.  When  the  Domesday  survey  was 
taken,  the  persons  appointed  to  describe  the  possessions 
and  revenues  of  Croyland  **  showed  a  kind  and  benevo- 
lent feeling  toward  our  monastery,  and  did  not  value  the 
monastery  at  its  true  revenue,  nor  yet  at  its  exact  extent, 
and  thus,  in  their  compassion,  took  due  precautions 
against  the  future  exactions  of  the  kings,  as  well  as 
other  burdens,  and  with  the  most  attentive  benevolence 
made  provision  for  our  welfare."  After  this  charitable 
and  virtuous  proceeding  to  defraud  the  royal  revenues, 
we  are  not  surprised  to  hear  that,  in  1085,  St.  Guthlac 
wrought  a  miracle  after  the  fashion  of  Elijah  at  Zare- 
phath.  During  a  terrible  famine  the  worthy  anchoret — 
now  in  Paradise — sent  the  brethren  four  sacks  of  corn 
which  wasted  not  until  the  days  of  plenty  came  again. 
Six  years  later,  owing  to  the  carelessness  of  the  plumber 
who  was  repairing  the  roof  of  the  church,  the  building 
caught  fire,  and  a  very  large  part  of  the  abbey  was  de- 
stroyed. This,  Ingulph  concluded,  happened  because 
diligent  attention  had  not  been  given  to  the  dying  charge 
of  the  ancient  Turketul  to  take  care  of  the  fires.  The 
friends  in  the  neighborhood  came  to  the  rescue  and 
helped  the  monks  to  restore  their  home.     ''  Nor  should, 


286  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

among  so  many  of  our  benefactors,  the  holy  memory 
of  JuHana,  a  poor  old  woman  of  Weston,  be  consigned 
to  oblivion,  who  of  her  want  did  give  unto  us  all  her 
living — nadnely,  a  great  quantity  of  spun  thread,  for  the 
purpose  of  sewing  the  vestments  of  the  brethren  of  our 
monastery." 

The  brotherhood,  however,  had  another  friend  besides 
St.  Guthlac.  In  the  June  of  1075  was  put  to  death  at 
Winchester  the  earl  and  patriot  Waltheof — one  "  who 
had  shown  himself  most  kindly  disposed  toward  all  the 
religious,  and  an  especial  and  most  excellent  friend  to 
the  monastery  of  Croyland."  Charged  with  a  political 
offence  of  which  he  appears  to  have  been  guiltless,  the 
treachery  of  his  wife  and  the  covetousness  of  his  ene- 
mies secured  his  execution.  Fifteen  days  later  the 
monks  of  St.  Guthlac,  full  of  sorrow  at  the  loss  of  so 
noble  a  benefactor,  removed  his  body  from  the  grave. 
The  remains  were  fresh,  and  appeared  as  though  newly 
sprinkled  with  fresh  blood.  They  were  taken  to  Croy- 
land and  buried  in  the  chapter-house.  The  great  fire 
just  mentioned,  in  laying  waste  the  buildings,  exposed 
the  tomb  **  to  the  showers  and  all  kinds  of  tempests." 
Ingulph  therefore  determined  upon  the  translation  of 
the  "  holy  martyr "  into  the  church ;  and  when  the 
restorations  were  completed,  the  deed  was  done.  But 
when  the  sepulchre  was  open,  says  the  chronicler,  "be- 
hold !  we  found  the  body  as  whole  and  as  uncorrupted 
as  on  the  day  on  which  it  was  buried."  The  miracle 
was  not  uncommon :  St.  Guthlac  had  also  resisted  the 
process  of  decay.  Nor,  in  view  of  the  story  of  St. 
Winifred,  is  the  rest  of  the  record  singular :  "  We  also 
found  the  head  united  to  the  body,  while  a  fine  crimson 


ST.    GUTHLAC  AND   CROYLAND.  28/ 

line  around  the  neck  was  the  only  sign  remaining  of  his 
decollation."  The  delight  of  the  brethren  can  be  imag- 
ined. A  kiss,  and  odors  exceeding  those  of  distant 
Syria  proceeded  from  the  body;  a  moment's  wonder, 
and  the  brethren  began  a  song  of  praise.  When  Wal- 
theof  was  laid  beside  Guthlac,  the  monastery  began  to 
realize  the  power  of  the  martyr.  At  his  tomb  thou- 
sands plighted  their  vows  and  paid  their  offerings. 

Many  bits  of  quaint  story  lie  in  these  chronicles.  At 
Croyland  began  in  England  the  custom  of  washing  the 
poor  men's  feet  on  Maunday  Thursday :  the  duties  of 
the  brethren  and  the  servitors  were  so  wisely  arranged 
as  to  serve  for  an  example  to  other  communities ;  and 
the  sanctity  of  the  convent  is  displayed  in  such  as 
Brother  Wulfsy,  who  in  passing  from  Croyland  to 
Evesham  "  during  the  whole  journey,"  says  Peter  of 
Blois,  "  had  his  eyes  covered  with  a  bandage,  so  that 
he  might  not  again  look  upon  the  vanities  of  the  world 
which  he  had  forsaken,  and  incur  any  taint  therefrom  in 
his  heart  and  afterward  have  to  repent  thereof."  It  is 
satisfactory  to  know  that  Brother  Wulfsy,  having  filled 
the  measure  of  his  days  and  in  his  last  moments  testi- 
fied with  remarkable  precision  to  the  possessions  of 
Croyland,  died  in  peace.  But  here  the  gleaning  must 
stop. 

The  abbey  held  its  own  till  the  days  when  a  mightier 
than  St.  Guthlac  arose.  Ivo  Taillebois — that  "  succes- 
sor of  the  old  Adam,"  that  **  frail  potsherd,"  that 
**  avowed  enemy  of  the  servants  of  God  " — who  in  the 
year  1114  "descended  to  hell  in  a  moment  of  time," 
may  have  wrought  much  wrong  to  Croyland,  but  he 
was  as  nothing  beside  the  eighth   Harry  of   England. 


288  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Then  the  thirty-ninth  abbot  had  no  successor,  and  the 
sanctuary  of  the  great  Mercian  saint  was  eternally  dese- 
crated. Eight  hundred  years  is  a  long  life  for  any  insti- 
tution ;  and  while,  indeed,  wrong  and  error  seem  to  have 
an  immortality  of  their  own,  yet  Croyland  was  not  with- 
out its  design  of  good  or  its  career  of  usefulness.  St. 
Guthlac  did  not  in  the  evil  days  of  the  sixteenth  cen- 
tury come  to  the  rescue — perhaps  because  his  patrimony 
had  served  its  purpose,  and  because  it  was  fitting  that 
the  community  should  do  as  he  had  long  since  done, 
enter  into  its  rest.  But  both  for  his  sake  and  for  the 
sake  of  Waltheof,  Croyland  will  be  remembered. 
Thanks  to  the  charm  of  the  Ingulph  chronicle,  the 
name  and  the  story  of  the  great  house  will  abide. 
The  splendor  has  gone  and  the  glow  of  sunset  has 
lortg  since  faded  into  night.  Now  the  great  tower 
guides  the  traveller  across  the  fenland  to  the  ruins  of 
the  former  glory ;  beneath  the  rank  grass  and  the  bram- 
ble-bushes lies  the  dust  of  the  nameless  brethren  ;  around 
the  broken  buildings  fly  large  numbers  of  crows  and 
daws — the  descendants,  perchance,  of  those  which  St. 
Guthlac  fed  more  than  a  thousand  years  since ;  and 
ever  and  anon  as  in  the  days  of  old  the  fog  creeps  up 
from  the  sea  and  the  moisture  drops  from  the  alder- 
leaves.  Yet  out  of  the  north  aisle  of  the  abbey-church 
has  been  shaped  for  the  villagers  a  place  of  worship, 
and  near  the  spot  v/here  the  famous  hermit  wrestled 
with  uncanny  powers  are  still  heard  the  matin-prayer 
and  the  chant  of  the  evensong. 


CHAPTER  XI. 

None  of  the  thirteen  centuries  of  the  primatial  see 
of  England  is  more  glorious  than  that  in  which  its 
throne  was  occupied  by  Lanfranc,  Anselm  and  Becket, 
These  men,  respectively  statesman,  saint  and  martyr, 
each  great  in  himself,  both  guided  the  Church  through 
the  dangers  of  the  first  hundred  years  following  the  Con- 
quest and  brought  imperishable  renown  to  themselves 
and  to  the  foundation  of  St.  Augustine  and  Theodore. 
Other  archbishops  have  been  eminent  for  the  same 
virtues.  Most  worthy  in  statecraft  were  Dunstan  and 
Langton ;  in  saintliness,  Edmund  Rich  and  Thomas 
Bradwardine ;  and  in  death,  Simon  Sudbury  and  Wil- 
liam Laud ;  but  of  them  none  shines  with  lustre  equal 
to  that  which  belongs  to  the  three  prelates  who  reigned 
from  the  day  when  England  became  Norman  to  the 
day  when  she  became  England  again. 

By  the  beginning  of  the  eleventh  century  both  the 
realm  and  the  Church  of  the  English  needed  the  in- 
coming of  an  element  which  would  give  them  stability 
and  bring  them  into  closer  contact  with  the  civilized 
and  the  religious  world.  For  two  hundred  years  the 
kingdom  had  been  one,  but  the  native  princes  were  not 
strong  enough  to  save  the  crown  from  Danish  invaders, 
nor  when  the  latter  had  secured  it  were  they  able  for 

19  289 


290  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  K 

long  to  retain  its  possession.  The  era  between  Egbert 
and  the  Confessor,  though  for  the  nonce  lighted  up  by 
the  virtues  of  an  Alfred  and  the  prowess  of  a  Knut, 
was  therefore  full  of  trouble  and  uncertainty.  Within, 
the  difficulties  of  consolidation  were  many  and  great; 
without,  eager  and  ambitious  peoples  held  themselves 
ready  to  seize  upon  the  land.  Isolation  was  a  conse- 
quence of  this  strife.  The  nation  kept  itself  aloof  from 
the  life  of  Europe.  It  fell  behind  its  continental  neigh- 
bors in  the  development  of  arts,  social  comforts,  polit- 
ical economy  and  ecclesiastical  order.  When  the  son  of 
Ethelred  the  Unready,  the  blue-eyed  Edward,  in  1042 
received  the  crown,  England  was  indeed,  compared  with 
the  lands  beyond  the  Channel,  another  world. 

The  Church  to  a  considerable  extent  suffered  from  this 
separation.  Its  rulers  were  more  patriots  than  ecclesias- 
tics, more  desirous  of  maintaining  the  independency  of 
their  jurisdictions  than  of  sharing  in  the  vitality  and  fhe 
splendor  which  belonged  to  the  papal  confederation. 
Appeals  had  already  been  made  to  Rome,  some  of  the 
bishops  had  been  consecrated  there,  gifts  were  presented 
to  the  pope  by  English  pilgrims,  but  the  authority  of 
the  apostolic  see,  except  when  it  chanced  to  agree  with 
the  island-Church,  was  neither  recognized  nor  obeyed. 
The  pontiffs  never  succeeded  in  making  the  provinces 
of  Canterbury  and  York  part  and  parcel  of  their  realm 
as  they  did  Spain,  France  and  Germany.  They  assumed 
prerogatives ;  they  overshadowed  bishops  and  abbots  of 
a  Church  so  poor  and  remote;  but  England  cherished 
her  own  freedom  and  dreaded  the  death  of  absorption. 
And  this  very  feeling  hindered  her  growth.  The  Church 
was  neither  large  enough  nor  strong  enough  to  keep 


THE    GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  29 1 

pace  with  the  age.  It  abounded  in  saints,  but  it  dwin- 
dled in  scholarship.  The  tides  and  the  currents  which 
moved  the  outside  world  scarcely  touched  the  Saxons 
beside  the  Thames  or  the  Danes  along  the  Humber. 
They  were  as  the  inhabitants  of  a  village  distant  from 
and  having  little  intercourse  with  the  city,  living  within 
themselves,  going  over  and  over  the  ground  of  their 
own  narrow  limitations  and  thinking  their  knowledge 
all-sufficient  They  were  superstitious  without  reason 
and  pious  without  charity.  They  thought  their  clergy 
the  peers  of  any,  and  their  rites,  edifices,  theology  and 
laws  all  that  could  be  desired.  Edward,  however,  had 
lived  in  Normandy,  and  he  saw  that  the  Church  of  his 
land  had  stagnated  and  was  in  desperate  need  of  refor- 
mation. Either  it  must  come  nearer  the  great  body  of 
Christendom  or  it  must  perish.  Therefore  he  brought 
in  bishops  and  scholars  from  abroad,  and  prepared  the 
way  for  the  more  effectual  work  of  William  of  Nor- 
mandy. 

In  this  decline,  however,  past  glory  must  not  be  for- 
gotten. The  Church  had  lived  for  five  hundred  years ; 
then,  in  the  new  life  brought  in  by  Lanfranc,  Anselm 
and  Becket,  it  went  on  for  a  second  period  of  like  length, 
when  another  revolution  saved  it  from  death  and  gave  it 
its  modern  character.  In  each  of  these  phases  of  its 
existence  it  had  its  splendor  and  its  shame,  its  growth 
and  its  decay,  its  morning,  noontide  and  evening.  In 
the  early  period,  besides  such  men  as  in  preceding  chap- 
ters have  been  named,  it  had  in  Caedmon  and  Aldhelm 
its  poets,  its  scholars  in  Alcuin,  Swithin,  Wilfrid  and 
^.Ifric,  its  historians  in  Asser  and  Alfred,  its  missionary 
in  Boniface,  and  its  prince-bishop  in  Dunstan. 


292  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

More  celebrated  than  these,  however,  is  the  Venerable 
Bede,  who  by  his  scholarship,  piety  and  books  made  his 
age  remarkable,  and  therefore  deserves  more  than  pass- 
ing notice.  He  was  a  Northumbrian,  born  in  673  at 
Wearmouth,  and  from  the  age  of  seven  brought  up  by 
the  learned  Benedict  Biscop  either  at  that  monastery  or 
at  Yarrow.  The  two  houses  were  in  the  strictest  union, 
and  under  the  enlightened  rule  of  their  abbots  Bede  ac- 
quired a  knowledge  of  the  literature  and  the  thought  of 
his  day,  an  acquaintance  with  sacred  and  classic  authors, 
a  broad  and  liberal  view  of  men  and  things  and  a  love 
for  history.  His  ordination  and  his  first  book  appear  to 
synchronize  with  the  year  702,  and  the  next  thirty  years 
of  his  life  were  spent  in  writing  church  history,  com- 
mentaries and  Uves  of  saints.  A  love  for  truth,  a  clear 
perception,  a  sound  policy  and  a  pure  soul  made  his 
character  beautiful  and  his  works  valuable.  Upon  him 
we  chiefly  depend  for  our  knowledge  of  the  British  and 
the  early  English  churches.  With  rare  industry  and 
lively  acumen  he  perspicaciously  arranged  his  materials, 
gathered  from  all  possible  sources.  Though  he  rarely 
left  his  monastery,  his  name  was  known  everywhere. 
Gentle  and  humble,  he  won  the  affection  of  his  con- 
temporaries and  the  admiration  of  his  scholars.  Nor 
was  his  death  less  lovely  than  had  been  his  life.  In  his 
last  illness  above  all  things  he  most  dreaded  to  be  absent 
from  the  services.  ^'  The  angels  are  there,"  said  he ; 
"  what  if  they  find  me  not  among  the  brethren  ?  Will 
they  not  say,  '  Where  is  Bede  ?'  "  To  the  day  of  his  dy- 
ing he  kept  up  his  work  and  his  devotion.  In  that  day, 
the  Ascension  vigil  or  feast  of  735,  too  weak  to  join  in  the 
perambulations,  and  therefore  left  alone  with  his  amanu- 


THE    GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY,  293 

ensis,  Cuthbert,  he  continued  his  translation  of  St.  John. 
**  Dearest  master,"  the  youth  said,  "  there  is  one  chapter 
wanting,  and  it  is  hard  for  thee  to  question  thyself" — 
"  No,  Jt  is  easy,"  Bede  replied  ;  "  take  thy  pen,  and  write 
quickly."  The  eventide  came  on.  Again  the  lad  ob- 
served, "  There  is  yet  one  more  sentence,  dear  master, 
to  write  out."  The  dying  man  answered,  "  Write  quick- 
ly." After  a  little  while  Cuthbert  laid  down  his  pen  and 
said,  "  It  is  finished." — "  Thou  hast  spoken  truly,"  said 
Bede  :  "  it  is  finished.  Take  now  my  head  between  thy 
hands  and  lift  me.  Fain  would  I  sit  with  my  face  to- 
ward the  place  where  I  was  ever  wont  to  pray."  So, 
while  the  dusky  night  hung  over  sea  and  mountain,  he 
sat  and  waited  for  the  Death-angel.  A  sunbeam  kisses 
the  swollen  rose,  and  out  of  its  mossy  sheath  the  flower 
bursts  into  beauty  and  fragrance ;  a  touch  of  God's  mes- 
senger, and  to  the  bud  given  in  baptism,  preserved  by 
grace  and  nurtured  by  piety  would  come  the  blossom- 
ing— the  soul  of  the  old  man  would  pass  into  the  light 
and  the  youth  of  the  eternal  land.  The  touch  was 
given;  Bede  uttered  his  last  earthly  Gloria  Patri,  and 
then  "  he  went  to  the  kingdom  in  heaven."  Where  he 
died  his  remains  were  buried ;  later  they  were  taken  to 
Durham  and  placed  in  the  same  coffin  with  the  bones  of 
St.  Cuthbert. 

The  English  Church,  therefore,  early  had  its  glory, 
and  though,  as  with  all  things  in  this  world,  it  was 
destined  to  pass  away,  a  new  day  should  dawn  full  of 
radiance  when  the  sceptre  of  Cerdic  should  pass  to 
Duke  William  and  the  see  of  Canterbury  to  his  friend 
and  supporter  Lanfranc. 

One   of  the   projects   by  which  William    sought   to 


294  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

justify  the  invasion  of  England  was  the  reformation  of 
the  Church  there,  to  which  project  the  pope  gladly 
gave  both  his  benediction  and  the  character  of  a  cru- 
sade. Lanfranc  had  long  been  the  trusted  counsellor 
of  the  ambitious  duke.  Born  in  1005  of  a  well-known 
and  honorable  family  at  Pavia,  in  Lombardy,  he  had 
acquired  in  his  native  city  an  erudition  unexcelled  by 
any  contemporary.  Especially  was  he  acquainted  with 
the  Greek  language  and  with  civil  law.  In  1039  he 
went  to  Normandy,  and  in  Avranches  opened  a  school 
which  soon  obtained  much  fame  and  many  scholars. 
Three  years  later  he  became  a  monk  at  Bee — a  house 
founded,  and  now  ruled,  by  the  noble  Herlwin.  His 
obedience  was  thorough.  When  directed  by  a  superior 
to  shorten  the  second  syllable  of  docere,  he  did  so ;  for 
order  was  more  important  than  right  pronunciation.  In 
1045  he  became  prior,  and  soon  attracted  the  attention 
of  Duke  William.  He  even  ventured  to  rebuke  the 
duke  for  marrying  Matilda,  his  cousin ;  whereupon  the 
duke  promptly  sentenced  him  to  banishment  and  ordered 
part  of  the  possessions  of  Bee  to  be  burned.  On  the 
way  out  of  the  country,  however,  William  met  the 
great  scholar ;  a  reconciliation  was  effected,  and  Lan- 
franc undertook  to  secure  the  pope's  sanction  of  the 
marriage.  He  succeeded,  but  William  had  to  make 
atonement  for  his  sin  by  founding  two  monasteries.  Of 
these  the  more  famous  was  that  of  St.  Stephen  at  Caen, 
over  which  in  1066  the  wise  monk  of  Bee  was  made 
first  abbot.  The  next  year  Lanfranc  refused  the  bishop- 
ric of  Rouen— perhaps  because  both  he  and  William 
had  in  mind  the  more  important  throne  of  Canterbury. 
Be  that  as  it  may,  August  29,  1070,  he  was  consecrated 


THE   GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  295 

archbishop  of  the  English,  and  his  old  pupil  Anselm 
of  Lucca,  now  Alexander  IL,  conferred  upon  him  two 
palls — the  only  instance  in  history  of  the  double  honor. 
Two  of  the  most  remarkable  men  of  the  time  thus 
ruled  in  England — William,  Dei  gracia  Rex  Anglontm^ 
and  Lanfranc,  Gentium  transmarinaruin  summus  Ponti- 
fex.  Hildebrand  the  archdeacon,  three  years  later 
Gregory  VI I. ,  was  their  only  peer  in  Europe.  He  was 
not  only  their  peer,  but  lord  also  of  all  the  kings  and 
bishops  from  Brittany  to  Dalmatia  and  from  Leon  to 
the  Baltic.  In  him  the  Church  had  its  greatest  reformer 
and  disciplinarian,  and  the  papacy  its  mightiest  advocate. 
Grieved  at  the  abuses  of  the  times,  the  negligence  of 
the  clergy,  the  quarrellings  of  princes,  the  immorality, 
unhappiness  and  indifference  of  the  people,  his  remedy 
was  a  strong  central  authority  at  Rome  to  which  the 
nations  should  bow,  and  which  every  Christian  should 
obey.  His  claims,  startling  as  they  seem  to  us,  met 
with  the  approval  of  most  reflective  men.  The  world 
has  ever  sought  a  way  from  its  troubles.  One  age 
thinks  a  king  or  a  prophet  the  sure  panacea,  and  anoth- 
er trusts  to  the  majority-spirit  of  the  people ;  but  the 
eleventh  century  pinned  its  faith  to  the  highest  clergy- 
man in  Christendom.  So  did  William  and  Lanfranc — 
when  it  pleased  them.  Hildebrand  could  keep  the 
emperor  Henry  three  days  in  the  snow  waiting  his  will 
and  humiliate  him  before  Europe,  but  William  and 
Lanfranc  were  too  like  Hildebrand  himself.  They 
quietly  laughed  at  him  or  ignored  his  commands :  he 
never  went  farther  than  threatening.  Hildebrand  asked 
for  fealty  and  tribute  :  William  refused  both,  but  offered 
to  send  money  as  a  gift.     Nor  would  Lanfranc  at  the 


296  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

pope's  bidding  appear  at  Rome :  he  was  bent  upon 
reforming  the  Church  over  which  he  ruled,  but  not 
upon  subjecting  it  to  the  successors  of  St.  Peter.  For- 
eigner though  he  was,  he  became  as  patriotic  as  Wulf- 
stan  and  as  insular  as  Stigand.  When  the  decree  of 
enforced  clerical  celibacy  was  enacted,  he  freely  modified 
it,  and  allowed  the  parochial  clergy  to  retain  their  wives. 
His  acute,  busy  mind,  trained  by  travel,  diplomacy  and 
learning,  had  a  wide  grasp  of  ecclesiastical  and  political 
questions,  considerable  subtlety  and  an  undaunted  dar- 
ing. He  united  the  vigor  of  an  accomplished  ruler 
with  the  gentleness  of  the  scholar  and  the  wisdom  of 
the  theologian.  Without  violence  or  sacrificing  the 
interests  of  either  Church  or  State,  he  gradually  effected 
the  needed  changes.  The  native  bishops  were  removed 
and  foreign  prelates  placed  in  their  stead.  Sees  which 
had  been  established  in  villages  or  small  towns  were 
transferred  to  more  important  centres — e.  g.,  Selsey  to 
Chichester,  Sherborne  to  Sarum,  Elmham  to  Thetford, 
Dorchester  to  Lincoln,  Wells  to  Bath,  and  Lichfield  to 
Chester.  William  of  Malmesbury  joyfully  declares, 
"  No  sinister  means  profited  a  bishop  in  those  days, 
nor  could  an  abbot  procure  advancement  by  purchase." 
Every  bishop  was  required  to  acknowledge  the,  suprem- 
acy of  Canterbury;  and  when  a  candidate  for  York 
refused  at  the  consecration  to  take  the  oath  of  obedience, 
Lanfranc  stayed  the  rites  and  sent  him  away  unordained. 
For  the  settlement  of  disputed  questions  concerning 
ritual,  precedence,  simony  and  marriage  he  held  six 
councils.  He  also  rebuilt  the  cathedral  at  Canterbury, 
sanctioned  the  Use  of  Sarum  and  devised  the  separation 
of  the  civil  and  ecclesiastical  courts. 


THE    GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  297 

In  nothing,  however,  was  Lanfranc  more  active  than 
in  establishing  and  reforming  monasteries.  Before  his 
day  only  ninety-four  houses  had  been  founded  in  Eng- 
land; within  two  hundred  years  of  his  death  nearly 
eleven  hundred  were  built.  The  rule  of  St.  Benedict 
still  prevailed,  but  fault  was  now  found  with  its  disci- 
pline. In  910,  Odo  of  Clugny,  in  Burgundy,  attempted 
a  reformation  of  the  order ;  hence  the  Cluniac  monks, 
who  in  the  height  of  their  power  had  about  twenty 
houses  in  England,  all  subject  to  the  abbot  of  the 
mother-house  on  the  Continent.  They  were  remark- 
able for  the  development  of  a  high  ritual  and  for  an 
excessive  a^stheticism.  About  1080,  Bruno,  a  priest  of 
Cologne,  made  an  essay  in  the  opposite  direction.  In  a 
desert-spot  near  Grenoble,  in  Dauphin^,  he  founded  a 
house  for  brethren  who  desired  the  plainest  and  most 
austere  life.  From  the  place — Chartreux — they  obtained 
the  name  of  Carthusians,  and,  though  they  never  became 
popular  and  had  in  England  but  nine  houses,  they  still 
claim  theirs  to  be  the  only  order  never  reformed  because 
of  deviation  from  their  original  rule.  They  may  .be 
called  the  puritans  of  monachism.  "  I  thought,"  said 
Bruno,  "  on  the  days  of  old  and  the  years  of  eternity, 
and,  lo !  I  fled  far  off  and  abode  in  solitude."  Rigid 
silence,  utter  seclusion  and  loneliness,  and  constant 
prayer  distinguished  his  followers.  St.  Hugh  of  Ava- 
lon,  afterward  bishop  of  Lincoln  and  renowned  for  his 
energy,  munificence  and  holiness,  was  the  first  prior  of  the 
first  Carthusian  convent  in  England — that  of  Witham, 
in  Somersetshire.  An  order  less  severe  than  the  Car- 
thusian and  more  rigid  than  the  Cluniac  was  founded 
in  1098  by  Robert  of  Molesme  at  Citeaux,  in  Burgundy. 


29S  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  Y. 

At  first  unsuccessful,  it  was  taken  up  by  an  Englishman, 
Stephen  Harding,  and  finally  established,  about  11 36, 
by  St  Bernard  of  Clairvaux,  scholar,  poet,  mystic,  op- 
ponent of  Arnold  of  Brescia  and  Abelard  and  founder 
or  restorer  of  seventy-two  monasteries.  Called  some- 
times, from  him,  "  Bernardines,"  from  the  color  of  their 
habit  "  White  Monks  "  and  from  their  first  home  **  Cis- 
tercians," the  brethren  of  this  society  made  their  way 
into  England,  and  there  created  some  of  the  most  cele- 
brated establishments.  They  were  great  farmers,  living 
in  places  nominally  ten  miles  from  any  town,  and  teach- 
ing the  mountain- valleys,  the  barren  wilderness  and  the 
unclaimed  moor  to  rejoice  with  fertility  and  with  beauty. 
Among  their  abbeys  were  Tintern,  Fountains,  Rievaulx, 
Melrose  and  Furness.  Each  house  was  dedicated  to 
St.  Mary,  and  all  were  independent  and  of  equal  rank. 
Other  communities,  comparatively  unimportant,  also 
branched  out  of  the  Benedictine  society,  but  none — 
not  even  the  Cistercian — received  the  glory  of  that 
great  order.  It  remained  the  wealthiest  and  the  most 
extensive  of  "  rules,"  the  home  of  historians  and 
scholars,  the  most  healthful  form  of  monachism  and 
the  guardian  of  many  cathedrals  and  minsters.  The 
Black  Monks  never  lost  their  hold  on  the  affections  of 
the  people,  and  never  fell  into  abuses  which  made  other 
orders  a  proverb  and  a  reproach. 

Distinct  from  the  monks  and  the  secular  clergy, 
though  partaking  somewhat  of  the  nature  of  both, 
were  the  canons.  Originally  they  were  the  assistants 
of  the  bishop,  helping  him  in  his  immediate  work,  at- 
tending to  the  services  of  the  cathedral  and  with  him 
living  in  community.     Afterward  they  were  associated 


THE  GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  299 

in  the  care  of  churches  without  the  bishop,  forming  a 
staff  of  parochial  clergy,  and  differing  from  them  only 
in  abiding  under  the  one  roof  or  within  the  same  pre- 
cincts. They  observed  no  laws  such  as  distinguished 
monks,  but  even  sought  for  greater  laxity  and  individ- 
ual independence.  Finally  they  branched  into  canons 
secular — approaching  more  nearly  the  clergy  who  ob- 
served no  "  rule  of  life  " — and  canons  regular,  building 
houses,  keeping  hours  of  service,  living  under  authority 
and  becoming  semi-monastical.  The  canons  regular  again 
divided  into  two  principal  orders — the  Austin,  or  Black, 
following  the  institutes  of  St.  Augustine  of  Hippo,  con- 
stituted in  1 061  and  in  England  eventually  second  only 
to  the  Benedictine  monks  in  numbers  and  influence; 
and  the  Praemonstratensian,  or  White,  founded  by  Nor- 
bert  of  Magdeburg  in  11 20  at  Premontre,  in  Picardy. 
The  former  were  always  subject  to  episcopal  visitation ; 
the  latter,  like  the  Cluniac  monks,  gave  allegiance  to 
their  French  chief  house.  Both  had  their  houses  the 
same  as  the  monks,  though  they  never  attempted  a 
discipline  so  severe  or  a  seclusion  so  rigid. 

These  differences  observed,  much  confusion  is  avoid- 
ed. The  monks,  the  canons,  and  afterward  the  friars, 
were  distinct  classes.  Many  of  them  received  priests' 
orders,  but  none  of  them  necessarily,  and  the  greater 
part  of  the  clergy  had  naught  to  do  with  them.  They 
were  divided  not  only  from  one  another,  having  no 
interests  in  common,  but,  as  we  have  seen,  also  within 
themselves.  Perhaps  the  purpose  of  each  may  thus  be 
expressed  :  The  monk  sought  to  work  out  his  own  sal- 
vation by  isolation  from  the  world  ;  the  canon  served 
the  people  and  differed  from  a  secular   priest   only  in 


300  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HIS  TOR  V. 

living  with  other  priests  in  community  and  under  a  light 
rule ;  and  the  friar,  as  by  and  by  will  appear,  aimed  at 
the  conversion  of  the  masses.  In  England  the  Benedic- 
tines were  most  numerous  south  of  the  Thames  and  in 
the  fenland ;  the  Cistercians  were  largely  in  Wales, 
Yorkshire  and  Lincolnshire;  and  the  Austin  canons 
abounded  along  the  eastern  coasts.  The  other  orders 
were  too  small  to  affect  any  district. 

When  Lanfranc  became  archbishop,  he  found  not  only 
his  cathedral  in  ruins,  but  also  the  monks  in  charge  of 
it  woefully  distant  from  the  rule  which  they  professed. 
For  long  much  rivalry  had  existed  between  them  and 
the  great  abbey  of  Benedictines  founded  by  St.  Augus- 
tine without  the  walls.  The  two  houses  had  disputed 
concerning  the  residence  of  the  archbishop,  and,  though 
it  was  for  a  while  agreed  that  the  monks  of  Christchurch 
should  have  him  while  living  and  the  monks  of  St. 
Augustine  when  dead,  the  arrangement  was  broken  by 
Cuthbert,  the  eleventh  archbishop.  He  prepared  for 
his  burial  within  the  cathedral ;  and  when,  at  the  tolling 
of  the  bell  announcing  his  decease,  the  brethren  of  St. 
Augustine  came  for  his  body,  they  found  that  he  had 
been  dead  three  days  and  was  already  in  his  grave. 
The  triumph  of  the  Christchurch  brethren  did  not 
soothe  the  rage  of  those  of  St.  Augustine,  to  whom  a 
dead  archbishop  was  far  more  profitable  than  one  liv- 
ing ;  nor  did  the  ill-feeling  die  for  many  an  age.  Both 
societies  needed  reformation,  and  Lanfranc  began  first 
with  his  own  monks.  His  changes  were  gradual,  but 
decided.  The  number  of  brethren  was  raised  to  one 
hundred  and  fifty,  placed  under  the  government  of  a 
prior,  he  himself  being  abbot.     They  no  longer  were  to 


THE    GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  3OI 

follow  the  customs  of  men  of  the  world,  to  play  dice, 
wear  soft  apparel  and  give  banquets,  but  were  to  forsake 
the  error  of  their  ways  and  to  live  according  to  the  rule 
of  St.  Benedict.  To  them  fell  the  care  of  the  new 
cathedral.  Thence  he  proceeded  with  other  communi- 
ties, redressing  their  wrongs,  rebuking  their  shortcom- 
ings and  strengthening  their  position.  In  Canterbury 
hospitals  for  the  poor  and  the  sick  were  also  founded — 
among  them,  the  first  known  home  for  lepers.  One- 
third  of  his  revenues  he  gave  to  these  charities,  and  for 
their  service  he  built  the  church  of  St.  Gregory,  in 
memory  of  him  who  had  sent  Augustine  to  England 
and  there  established  the  first  body  of  canons  regular 
in  the  country.  He  further  recovered  no  less  than 
twenty-five  estates  of  which  his  see  had  been  robbed, 
and  throughout  the  kingdom  diligently  sought  to  restore 
to  the  Church  not  only  the  lands  she  had  lost,  but  also 
the  honor  which  had  been  dimmed  by  the  negligence 
of  clergy  and  of  monks.  The  result  of  his  efforts  was 
not  only  to  bring  back  earnestness  in  the  parishes  and 
discipline  in  the  monasteries,  and  thus  make  the  Church 
of  England  more  like  the  best  continental  model,  but 
also  to  give  the  see  of  Canterbury  an  importance  it  had 
never  before  realized.  He  advanced  no  new  claims  for 
its  supremacy ;  he  asked  for  no  more  than  had  Theo- 
dore or  Dunstan ;  but  he  succeeded  in  securing  the 
position  for  which  for  nearly  five  hundred  years  the 
archbishops  had  striven,  and  in  adding  to  its  venerable 
traditions  and  lofty  titles  the  fulness  of  secular  and 
political  power.  Henceforth,  Canterbury  was  no  shadow. 
The  advocates  of  the  York  primacy  urged  that  Gregory 
had   not   extended   the   privilege  of  Augustine   to  his 


302  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

successors,  to  which  Lanfranc  replied  that  neither  had 
Christ  bestowed  the  gifts  he  gave  to  St.  Peter  upon 
those  who  should  follow  in  the  apostolic  see.  By  and 
by  not  only  would  the  English  dioceses  cling  to  Canter- 
bury, but  even  those  yet  within  the  confines  of  distant 
Wales  and  Scotland. 

Lanfranc's  vision  of  the  supremacy  of  his  throne  in 
Britain  was  the  shadow  of  Hildebrand's  design  of  the 
overlordship  of  Rome  in  Europe.  Lawyer,  monk, 
statesman  and  prelate,  he  was  both  practical  and  ex- 
perienced. No  small  man  could  have  been  successful 
in  so  many  spheres.  Least  of  all  was  he  bound  by  the 
things  which  influence  weaker  minds.  When  a  bishop 
on  trial  questioned  the  propriety  of  other  bishops  judg- 
ing him  unless  in  the  full  episcopal  dress,  Lanfranc 
replied,  "We  can  judge  very  well  clothed  as  we  are; 
for  garments  do  not  hinder  truth."  Nor  when  urged  to 
change  the  place,  the  procedure  and  the  assessors  would 
he  admit  that  these  things  had  aught  more  than  clothes 
to  do  with  ascertaining  justice  or  with  administering 
judgment.  He  maintained  to  the  full  the  royal  suprem- 
acy over  all  sorts  and  conditions  of  men  within  the 
realm.  The  national  Church,  he  held,  was  absolute 
within  itself  *'As  in  every  human  individual,"  he 
declares,  "  there  is  every  property  of  the  perfect  man, 
so  in  everx  Church  of  the  whole  Christian  faith  there  is 
the  same  integrity  and  completeness."  He  even  agreed 
with  St.  Augustine  that  the  future  Antichrist  would 
destroy  the  liberties,  and  even  the  individuality,  of  the 
separate  churches  by  absorbing  their  rights  and  powers 
in  himself  The  English  indeed  felt  sore  when  he 
struck  out  of  their  calendar  the  names  of  many  of  their 


THE    GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  303 

saints,  but  they  soon  learned  that  he  was  as  vahant  a 
defender  of  the  independence  of  their  Church  as  had 
been  any  of  the   men  of  their  own  race. 

WiUiam  had  been  dead  nearly  two  years  when  this 
"  enlightened  doctor  of  the  Church  and  the  kind  father 
of  the  monks,"  as  Henry  of  Huntingdon  calls  him,  en- 
tered into  his  rest — May  24,  1089.  His  years  then 
numbered  fourscore  and  four,  for  nineteen  of  which  he 
had  held  the  primacy  of  all  England.  He  was  buried 
within  his  own  cathedral,  and  for  four  years  the  Red 
King  kept  the  see  vacant  and  appropriated  its  revenues. 

Within  the  shadow  of  the  lofty  and  snow-crowned 
Alps,  at  Aosta,  near  the  borders  of  Lombardy  and  Bur- 
gundy, in  the  year  1032,  was  born  Anselm.  His  parents 
were  noble  and  rich,  and  from  his  mother  he  learned  his 
religious  ideas  and  his  love  of  holy  things.  In  his  boy- 
ish imagination  heaven  rested  upon  the  mountains  and 
the  path  to  the  palace  of  God  lay  up  the  lofty  precipices. 
One  night  he  dreamed  that  he  was  hastening  thither.  In 
the  plain  at  the  foot  of  the  heights  he  saw  the  King's 
maidens  idly  reaping  corn,  and  he  rebuked  them  for  their 
sloth.  On  reaching  the  celestial  mansion  he  found  the 
Lord  with  none  but  his  chief  butler,  all  the  household 
having  been  sent  to  the  harvest-field.  The  Lord  called 
him,  bade  him  sit  at  his  feet,  and  asked  him  who  he  was, 
whence  he  came  and  what  he  wanted.  Anselm  told  him 
all,  and  the  Lord  commanded  the  chief  butler  to  set  be- 
fore him  the  whitest  bread ;  so  he  ate,  and  was  refreshed. 
Nor,  when  he  awoke,  did  he  doubt  that  he  had  been  in 
heaven  and  had  spoken  face  to  face  with  God.  The  vis- 
ion helped  to  intensify  his  devotion.  At  fifteen  he  sought 
to  become  a  monk,  and  even  feigned  sickness  that  an 


304  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  Y. 

abbot  for  whom  he  sent  might  make  him  one ;  but,  as 
his  father  had  not  consented,  the  abbot  refused.  When 
about  twenty-three  years  old,  he  left  Aosta  to  seek  his 
fortunes  elsewhere,  finally  reaching  Avranches,  where 
Lanfranc's  fame  was  still  fresh.  Desirous  of  studying 
under  that  master,  now  prior  of  Bee,  he  went  thither; 
and,  though  the  work  and  the  discipline  told  upon  his 
delicate  frame,  in  1060,  rejecting  the  large  wealth  be- 
queathed him  by  his  father,  he  took  the  cowl,  and  three 
years  later  followed  Lanfranc  as  prior.  This  office  he  held 
for  fifteen  years,  when  Herlwin  the  abbot  died,  and  for 
another  fifteen  years  he  governed  in  his  stead. 

These  thirty  years  developed  the  lofty  genius  of  An- 
selm.  He  was  greater  than  Lanfranc  in  the  tenderness 
of  his  soul,  the  simplicity  of  his  faith,  the  power  of  his 
thought  and  the  holiness  of  his  life.  His  gentleness 
was  exhibited  as  well  in  his  treatment  of  the  boys  and 
the  novices  of  his  abbey  as  in  his  affection  for  the  low- 
er creation.  Both  William  and  Lanfranc  esteemed  him 
highly,  the  former  on  his  death-bed  sending  for  him. 
Even  Rufus  listened  to  his  admonitions  and  consented 
to  name  him  as  successor  to  Lanfranc.  At  that  time 
the  king  was  nigh  unto  death.  He  sent  for  the  good 
abbot,  who  on  his  coming  urged  the  monarch  to  con- 
fess his  misdeeds,  and  to  promise  if  he  recovered  to 
rule  with  justice  and  with  mercy.  The  great  men  of 
the  realm  besought  him  to  show  his  repentance  by 
remembering  the  vacant  Canterbury;  whereupon  he 
pointed  to  Anselm,  and  said,  '*  I  choose  yonder  holy 
man."  Anselm  immediately  and  emphatically  declined 
the  honor,  but  the  lords  and  the  bishops  present  thrust 
into  his  hands  the  pastoral  staff  and  forced  him  to  yield 


THE    GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  305 

to  their  and  the  king's  persuasions.  He  was  enthroned 
amidst  the  rejoicings  of  the  people,  September  5,  1093, 
and  consecrated  the  following  December.  The  king 
recovered  from  his  sickness  and  repented  of  his  repent- 
ance, though  he  did  not  seek  to  revoke  the  appointment 
to  Canterbury.  Before  the  winter,  was  over  the  first 
break  came  between  him  and  the  archbishop — the  fierce 
bull  and' the  gentle  sheep.  Anselm  fearlessly  and  severe- 
ly rebuked  William  the  sinner  for  the  unnamable  vices 
which  were  rife  in  his  court. 

More  keenly,  however,  than  his  reproaches  for  the 
gross  and  detestable  sins  which  the  king  countenanced, 
and  even  practised,  did  Rufus  feel  Anselm's  refusal  to 
consent  to  his  extortionate  taxation  of  Church-land^. 
"Are  not  the  abbeys  mine?"  cried  the  king. — "Yours 
to  protect,"  replied  Anselm,  "  but  not  yours  to  waste 
and  destroy."  The  archbishop  offered  a  gift ;  the  king 
demanded  more,  and  the  archbishop  went  out  of  his 
presence.  "  Yesterday,"  exclaimed  the  furious  mon- 
arch, "  I  hated  him  much,  to-day  I  hate  him  more,  and 
to-morrow  and  henceforth  I  shall  hate  him  with  even 
bitterer  hatred."  The  breach  widened  more  and  more  ; 
and  when  Anselm  requested  permission  to  go  to  Rome 
to  receive  the  pall  and  to  lay  his  troubles  before  the  pope, 
William  sought  both  to  prevent  him  and  to  take  from 
him  his  see  and  the  allegiance  of  his  suffragans. 

At  this  time  Christendom  was  distracted  by  the  ques- 
tion of  ecclesiastical  investiture.  The  act  of  giving  cor- 
poral possession  of  a  manor  or  an  office  was  generally 
symbolized  by  the  presentation,  say,  of  a  branch  or 
banner,  after  the  ancient  ceremony  of  "livery "of  seisin." 
In  ecclesiastical  "  livery  "  the  symbols  were  a  ring  and  a 
20 


306  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

staff,  and  the  difficulty  arose  as  to  who  should  invest  and 
to  whom  the  one  invested  should  give  homage.  The  pro- 
cess of  making  a  bishop  was  then,  first,  homage  and  invest- 
iture ;  secondly,  enthronement;  and. thirdly,  consecration. 
Thus  the  spiritual  function  was  an  appendage  to  the  fief; 
now,  the  process  being  reversed,  the  fief  is  an  append- 
age to  the  spiritual  function.  There  could  be  no  doubt 
as  to  the  giver  of  the  one,  but  who  should  confer  the 
fief?  Kings  and  laymen  had  always  done  so,  oftentimes 
with  the  effect  of  filling  ofifices  with  improper  persons 
and  of  introducing  simony.  Then  Gregory  VII.  claimed 
the  right  for  the  Church.  The  pope,  he  held,  was  the 
lord  both  of  churchmen  and  of  Church-lands.  Hence, 
Europe  divided :  some  would  receive  from  the  prince, 
and  some  from  the  pontiff.  For  fifty-six  years  a  strug- 
gle lasted  between  the  two  theories,  occasioning  sixty 
battles  and  the  loss  of  countless  lives.  Neither  side 
could  relinquish  the  right  to  the  allegiance  of  bishops, 
abbots,  monks  and  clergy;  but  finally,  in  1122,  at  the 
Council  of  Worms,  was  made  a  compromise  whereby 
the  right  of  investiture  into  spiritualities  by  ring  and 
staff  was  given  to  the  pope  and  the  enfeoffment  into 
temporalities  by  the  sceptre  to  the  Crown. 

This  bitter  and  burning  dispute  Anselm  introduced 
into  England.  Perhaps  he  thought  the  Hildebrandine 
idea  the  only  hope  against  the  tyranny  of  a  cruel  and 
avaricious  king.  Certainly  he  shrank  from  kneeling 
before  such  a  one  as  Rufus,  and  by  placing  his  pure 
hands  between  the  king's  sin-stained  hands  acknowledge 
him  as  his  lord.  In  his  timidity  he  looked  to  the  pow- 
erful pontiff  beyond  the  sea  for  protection,  and  thought 
could  he  but  reach  his  court  he  would  find  a  peace  and 


THE    GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  307 

purity  like  unto  that  which  he  had  dreamed  of  in  his 
boyhood  days.  But  Rufus  feared  neither  God  nor  man, 
nor  did  he  choose  to  yield  one  jot  or  tittle  of  his  rights. 
The  archbishop  must  give  him  homage  or  cease  to  be 
archbishop ;  nay,  since  at  this  time  there  chanced  to  be 
two  popes,  he  must  recognize  the  one  which  the  king 
recognized.  Anselm  would  do  neither.  Then  the  king 
secretly  agreed  to  proclaim  Urban — whom  Anselm  be- 
lieved to  be  the  rightful  pope — upon  condition  that  the 
pope  would  not  accept  Anselm.  Rufus  even  promised 
to  give  Urban  a  large  annual  payment,  but  so  soon  as 
the  king  made  the  recognition  the  papal  legate  flatly 
declared  such  a  compact  out  of  the  question.  Anselm 
was  therefore  better  off  than  before,  and  amid  much  cere- 
mony received  the  pall  sent  him  by  the  pope.  The 
strife,  however,  concerning  investiture  went  on,  nor  was 
it  settled  till,  in  1 107,  Henry  gave  up  the  right  to  invest 
by  ring  and  staff 

The  height  of  the  quarrel  was  reached  in  October, 
1097.  Anselm  had  pleaded  with  William  for  reforma- 
tion. The  king  refused,  and  Anselm  besought  permis- 
sion to  go  to  Rome.  Rufus  not  only  declined  permis- 
sion, but  also  declared  that  Anselm  should  pay  a  fine  for 
asking  it.  He  further  threatened  that  if  the  archbishop 
ventured  to  go  he  would  seize  the  archbishopric  and 
never  receive  him  again.  In  vain  did  Anselm  plead  the 
necessity  of  the  journey  for  his  own  soul's  health :  he 
had  sins,  and  he  needed  counsel.  But  the  king  declared 
that  he  could  have  no  sin  which  required  absolution, 
and,  as  for  counsel,  he  was  better  fitted  to  give  it  to  the 
apostolic  vicar  than  to  receive  it  from  him.  Then  Rufus 
relented  and  bade  him  within  ten  days  to  depart,  but  to 


308  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

take  nothing  with  him  which  belonged  to  the  king.  "  I 
have  horses,  clothes  and  furniture,"  replied  Anselm. 
"  Perhaps  some  one  will  say  they  belong  to  the  king ; 
if  so,  I  will  go  naked  and  barefoot."  The  king  sent  word 
that  he  did  not  wish  him  to  go  naked  and  barefoot,  but 
the  royal  messenger  would  tell  him  what  to  take.  Once 
more,  however,  Anselm  entered  the  king's  presence. 
With  a  cheerful  countenance  he  addressed  the  imperi- 
ous sovereign.  "  My  lord,"  said  he,  "  I  am  going.  Had 
it  been  with  your  good-will,  it  would  have  become  you 
better  and  have  been  more  agreeable  to  all  good  people. 
But,  as  this  may  not  be,  though  I  am  sorry  on  your 
behalf,  I  will  bear  it,  as  far  as  I  am  concerned,  with  an 
even  mind,  and  will  not,  by  God's  mercy,  abandon  on  this 
account  my  concern  for  your  soul's  health.  And  now, 
not  knowing  when  I  shall  see  you  again,  I  commend 
you  to  God ;  and  as  a  spiritual  father  to  a  beloved  son, 
as  the  archbishop  of  Canterbury  to  the  king  of  England, 
I  would  fain  before  I  go,  with  your  consent,  bestow  on 
you  God's  blessing  and  my  own."  The  king  replied, 
"  I  refuse  not  your  blessing,"  and  bowed  his  head.  An- 
selm made  the  sign  of  the  cross  over  it  and  departed, 
the  king  nevermore  to  see  his  face. 

Three  years  passed  before  Anselm  again  set  foot  in 
England.  In  the  mean  time,  he  visited  Rome,  and  was 
received  by  the  pope  as  the  patriarch  and  apostle  of  the 
world  across  the  sea.  He  also  finished  his  treatise  on 
the  Incarnation — the  Cur  Deus  Homo — attended  the 
Council  of  Bari,  October,  1098,  and  made  there  a  mas- 
terly speech  upon  the  doctrine  of  the  Holy  Ghost,  rested 
at  various  monasteries,  and  assisted  for  a  time  the  arch- 
bishop of  Lyons  in  his  episcopal  duties.     When  at  Casa 


THE   GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY,  30gi 

Dei,  near  Brionde,  in  Auvergne,  August,  i  loo,  tidings 
reached  him  that  WilHam  Rufus  had  been  killed  in  the 
New  Forest  by  an  arrow  from  an  unknown  hand.  The 
new  king,  Henry  I.,  immediately  sent  for  Anselm  to  re- 
turn home.  Nor  could  the  joy  of  the  nation  have  been 
greater  or  the  hopes  of  the  Church  higher  than  on  the 
September  day  of  that  year  when  he  once  more  entered 
Canterbury. 

The  struggle  about  investiture,  however,  broke  out 
afresh.  Both  king  and  archbishop  were  unyielding.  The 
question  was  carried  to  Rome,  where  before  the  papal 
councillors  Henry's  ambassador  declared,  "  Know  all 
men  present  that  not  to  save  his  kingdom  will  King 
Henry  lose  the  .investiture  of  the  churches."  The  an- 
swer was  no  less  positive :  "  And,  before  God,  not  to 
save  his  head  will  Pope  Paschal  let  him  have  them." 
Then,  with  that  temporizing  policy  which  has  been  both 
the  wisdom  and  the  weakness  of  the  Roman  see,  the 
pope  entered  into  secret  negotiations  with  the  king. 
Henry  and  Paschal  sought  to  bridge  over  the  difficulty, 
but  Anselm  stood  out  to  the  last.  To  his  mind  there 
could  be  no  compromise.  In  the  honesty  and  straight- 
forwardness of  his  soul  he  demanded  a  clear  decision. 
But  not  till  August,  1107,  at  a  gemot  held  in  London, 
was  a  settlement  effected.  Then,  the  pope  having  con- 
ceded the  right  of  homage,  the  king  gave  up  the  priv- 
ilege of  investiture.  Henceforth  no  bishop  nor  abbot  in 
England  should  receive  either  bishopric  or  abbey  at  the 
hand  of  a  layman :  the  Church  should  invest  her  digni- 
taries, and  they  should  give  allegiance  to  the  king. 

This  great  battle  ended,  Anselm  devoted  his  energies 
to  reformations  among  the  clergy.      His  hands  were 


310  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

made  strong  by  the  new  authority.  He  had  now  power 
over  both  the  persons  and  the  estates  of  the  ministers  of 
reh'gion,  and  that  power  he  exerted  for  the  nation's  good 
and  for  God's  glory.  But  his  days  were  numbered.  On 
Palm  Sunday,  1 109,  as  he  lay  in  his  bed  feeble  and  sick, 
an  attendant  told  him  that  his  friends  thought  he  was 
going  to  the  better  country  to  keep  his  Master's  Easter- 
court,  to  which  he  replied.  "If  his  will  be  so,  I  shall 
gladly  obey  it ;  but  if  he  pleased  rather  that  I  should 
yet  remain  amongst  you  till  I  have  solved  a  question 
which  I  am  turning  in  my  mind  about  the  origin  of  the 
soul,  I  should  receive  it  thankfully,  for  I  know  not  any 
one  who  will  finish  it  after  I  am  gone."  In  the  dawn  of 
the  following  Wednesday  he  died.  The  monks  buried 
him  beside  his  friend  Lanfranc  in  the  Cathedral  of  Can- 
terbury. Later  his  remains  were  removed  to  the  place 
where  they  now  rest,  under  the  south-east  tower  of  the 
chapel  which  bears  his  name. 

Lack  of  sympathy  with  the  ecclesiastical  position  of 
Anselm  ought  not  to  hinder  the  recognition  of  his  great 
genius  and  his  pure  life.  Since  the  days  of  Augustine 
of  Hippo  no  mightier  master  of  theology  had  arisen. 
Profound,  original  and  spiritual,  few  men  have  exerted 
a  stronger  influence  upon  the  thought  of  the  Church 
than  has  he.  There  was  a  thoroughness  in  his  work, 
united  with  a  grace  of  expression  and  a  courteousness 
of  manner,  which  won  for  him  an  almost  universal  ad- 
miration. Even  his  opponents  recognized  his  gentleness 
and  his  honesty,  and  learned,  while  they  disliked  his 
conclusions,  to  love  his  manliness.  Against  him  the 
breath  of  calumny  has  never  gone  forth.  Dante  in  his 
vision  of  Paradise  saw  him  "  among  the  spirits  of  light 


THE    GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  31I 

and  power  in  the  sphere  of  the  sun."  If  ever  man  was 
worthy  of  the  title  of  "  saint,"  Anselm  was  that  man. 
Yet  by  a  curious  irony  he  was  in  life  associated  with  the 
vilest  monarch  that  ever  sat  on  English  throne — William 
Rufus — and  was  canonized  by  Alexander  VI.,  the  most 
awful  embodiment  of  wickedness  that  ever  received  the 
tiara. 

The  ancient  British  Church  still  lingered  on  in  Wales 
and  Cumbria  as  it  had  done  in  Cornwall,  but  few  were 
the  days  which  remained  to  it.  About  960  a  Saxon 
bishop  was  consecrated  for  the  land  west  of  the  Exe, 
and  in  1072  that  country  passed  under  the  jurisdiction 
of  the  first  Norman  bishop  of  Exeter.  The  absorption 
of  Wales  followed.  As  far  back  as  870,  Welsh  bishops 
began  to  seek  consecration  at  Canterbury,  and  soon 
English  prelates  were  placed  in  Welsh  sees.  At  last 
Anselm  claimed  for  Canterbury  supremacy  over  the 
whole  island  south  of  the  Mersey  and  the  H umber,  and 
in  the  end  his  claim  was  made  good.  York  did  the 
same  for  part  of  Cumbria,  and  by  the  close  of  the  twelfth 
century  the  British  Church  had  entirely  passed  away. 
Nor  into  the  episcopate  which  now  ruled  over  the  entire 
land  south  of  the  Scottish  border  came  any  succession 
from  the  British  bishops.  Both  English  and  Normans 
regarded  the  orders  of  the  Church  which  they  absorbed 
as  irregular  and  defective ;  the  British  themselves  seemed 
to  have  grown  suspicious  in  like  manner ;  and  the  fash- 
ion of  the  times  was  to  look  to  the  see  of  St.  Peter  as  the 
true  line  by  which  the  apostolic  grace  was  continued. 
The  same  process  went  on  in  Scotland  and  in  Ireland. 
Everywhere  the  advocates  of  the  Roman  succession  had 
their  own  way.    The  old  native  churches  were  too  weak 


3 1 2  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  Y. 

and  too  much  divided  to  make  adequate  resistance.  As 
their  bishops  died  or  were  deposed  prelates  whose  con- 
secration was  undoubted  and  in  the  Roman  order  fol- 
lowed in  their  stead.  This  fact,  however,  does  not 
imply  that  the  churches  which  received  their  orders 
from  Rome  necessarily  made  submission  to  Rome.  The 
American  bishops  have  an  English  succession,  but  they 
are  entirely  independent  of  England. 

About  the  time  of  Anselm  began  a  movement  which 
for  many  years  affected  the  Church.  In  1095,  Peter 
the  Hermit  aroused  Europe  with  the  cry  of  a  crusade 
against  the  Saracen.  The  sacred  places  of  Jerusalem 
and  of  Canaan  were  in  the  hand  of  the  unbeliever. 
Where  Christ  had  died  arose  the  crescent,  and  the  faith- 
ful could  kneel  no  more  before  the  place  of  his  sepulture 
nor  wash  in  the  waters  of  Jordan.  Nay,  the  enemy 
threatened  to  overrun  Europe  itself,  and  to  make  its 
lands  a  heritage  for  the  False  Prophet.  To  the  fiery 
words  of  the  Hermit  listened  pope  and  prince,  bishops 
and  peoples.  An  army  began  to  form.  They  who 
took  part  in  driving  away  the  heathen  from  the  Holy 
Land  were  promised  remission  of  sin  and  a  portion  in 
the  blessings  of  heaven.  Urban  H.  was  scarcely  less 
enthusiastic  than  was  Peter.  He  urged  the  knights  and 
the  warriors  of  Christendom  to  take  "  the  blood-red  sign 
of  Him  who  died  for  their  salvation  "  and  march  to  the 
honor  and  victory  of  righteousness.  Tens  of  thousands 
answered  the  call  and  set  out.  Their  deeds,  their  suc- 
cesses and  failures,  have  been  told  in  romance  and  song 
as  well  as  in  history.  Out  of  the  effort  to  regain  Pales- 
tine arose  the  famous  orders  which  combined  in  the 
one   person  the  monk  and  the  knight.     In   11 04  were 


THE    GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  313 

founded  the  Hospitallers  of  St.  John,  and  in  11 18  the 
Knights  Templar.  Nor  could  a  work  which  demanded 
combination  and  direction  fail  to  strengthen  the  position 
of  the  papacy.  Christendom  was  obliged  to  present  to 
the  unbeliever  a  united  force,  and  naturally  Christendom 
was  brought  into  closer  contact  wjth  the  head  of  that 
force.  Unfortunately,  this  was  the  least  of  the  evils. 
Men  were  taught  that  the  mere  act  of  going  to  Pales- 
tine and  fighting  the  Saracen,  without  giving  up  habits 
wild  or  questionable,  would  secure  them  salvation.  The 
crusader,  no  matter  what  his  life,  was  as  sure  of  heaven 
as  was  the  most  austere  monk  or  the  most  faithful  priest. 
Nay,  the  assumption  of  the  cross  set  free  the  debtor 
from  his  creditor,  the  husband  from  his  family,  the 
monk  from  his  cloister  and  the  peasant  from  his  lord. 
By  this  act  the  most  solemn  responsibilities  could  be 
set  aside  and  the  most  awful  sins  atoned  for.  Hence 
both  religion  and  morality  suffered,  and,  as  much  money 
was  needed  to  carry  on  the  endless  struggle,  oppression 
was  extensive  and  unrestrained.  Perhaps  even  worse 
was  the  effect  upon  the  crusaders  of  the  cruelty  and  the 
carnage  in  which  they  indulged.  When  they  took 
Jerusalem,  their  fury  against  the  unbeliever  was  without 
restraint — indeed,  rather  than  aught  else,  the  passionate 
outburst  of  madmen.  They  dashed  infants  against  the 
walls  or  flung  them  over  the  battlements,  they  burnt 
alive  the  Jews  in  their  synagogues,  and  their  horses 
waded  knee- deep  in  the  gore  and  amidst  the  slain  bodies 
of  the  Turks.  When  the  slaughter  was  done,  the 
streets  of  the  city  were  washed  by  Saracen  prisoners, 
and  the  crusaders  thanked  God  that  they  had  realized 
the  yearnings  of  their  hearts.     The  leader  of  the  Chris- 


314  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

tian  army,  Godfrey,  was  made  king  of  Jerusalem,  though 
he  refused  to  bear  the  title  in  a  city  where  his  Lord  had 
worn  a  crown  of  thorns.  Other  rulers  succeeded  him  ; 
then,  less  than  half  a  century  from  the  setting  out  of 
the  first  crusade,  the  Saracen  began  to  recover  lost 
ground,  and,  though,  Europe  sent  army  after  army,  in 
the  end  the  land  remained  in  the  possession  of  the 
infidel.  All  that  had  been  done  in  Palestine  was  fruit- 
less, but  Europe  was  saved  from  the  encroachments  of 
a  power  which  would  have  blasted  her  life  and  have 
paralyzed  her  energies. 

The  charm  which  the  exploits  of  a  Richard  and  a 
Saladin  have  brought  to  this  vast  and  prolonged  struggle 
must  not  hide  the  evils  which  resulted  therefrom ;  nor, 
on  the  other  hand,  must  the  evils  be  supposed  to  out- 
weigh the  benefits.  Begun  from  a  mistaken  motive, 
carried  on  by  means  and  in  ways  deplorable  and  dis- 
graceful, and  creating  many  abuses  in  the  economy  and 
the  life  of  Christendom,  the  crusades  succeeded  in  break- 
ing up  the  isolation  of  the  distant  parts  of  Europe,  and 
in  hindering  the  further  progress  of  a  civilization  as 
dangerous  as  its  religion  was  false.  Had  the  infidel 
made  of  Italy,  France  and  England  what  he  has  made 
of  Turkey,  the  world  by  this  time  would  have  been 
without  hope. 

The  successors  of  Anselm  in  the  see  of  Canterbury, 
in  common  with  the  English  people,  had  their  interest 
both  in  the  crusades  and  in  the  maintenance  of  the  claims 
of  Canterbury  over  those  of  England  and  the  rights  of 
the  Church  over  those  of  the  State.  His  immediate 
successor  was  Ralph  d'Escures,  who  in  1 1 23  was 
followed  by  William   de    Corbeuil.     Neither   man    did 


THE    GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  315 

much  for  the  see  or  for  the  country.  In  1 139  the  abbey 
of  Bee  furnished  another  archbishop,  in  the  person  of 
Theobald,  a  master  of  canon  law,  whose  primacy  of 
twenty-two  years  was  full  of  trouble.  In  the  days  of 
Stephen,  England  knew  not  the  blessing  of  peace. 
Soon  after  the  accession  of  Henry  11. ,  Theobald  died, 
and  upon  the  throne  of  Canterbury  was  placed  one  who, 
worthy  or  unworthy,  was  destined  to  bring  greater 
glory  to  his  church  than  had  either  Lanfranc  or  Anselm. 
Thomas  a  Becket  was  born  in  London  in  the  year 
1 1 1 8  and  on  the  feast  of  the  apostle  after  whom  he  was 
named.  His  father  was  a  merchant,  and  at  one  time  was 
sheriff  of  the  city — a  man  of  Norman  extraction,  gener- 
ous impulses,  free  hospitality,  and  desirous  that  his  only 
child,  Thomas,  should  have  a  liberal  education  and 
admittance  to  the  best  society  of  the  age.  The  lad's 
mother — who  some  have  said  was  a  Saracen  maiden — 
in  her  devotion  and  piety  not  only  carefully  instructed 
her  son  in  the  principles  of  religion,  but  used,  when  he 
was  an  infant,  to  give  his  weight  in  food  and  clothing  to 
the  poor.  At  an  early  age  the  boy  was  placed  under 
able  masters  and  proceeded  both  to  school  and  to  col- 
lege, where  he  easily  acquired  the  elements  of  learning, 
and  then,  in  accordance  with  custom,  he  passed  under 
the  care  and  resided  in  the  household  of  one  of  the 
great  barons  of  England,  who  taught  him  the  feats  and 
the  graces  of  chivalry.  Later  he  studied  theology  in 
the  University  of  Paris  and  civil  law  in  the  University 
of  Bologna,  and  subsequently,  owing  to  his  father's  fail- 
ure in  business,  for  three  years  he  acted  as  a  clerk  in  a 
lawyer's  office.  He  was  graceful  in  demeanor,  majestic 
in  presence  and  tall  in  person,  handsome,  with  bright, 


3l6  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

quick  eyes,  aquiline  nose  and  singularly  well-shaped 
and  beautiful  hands.  His  fondness  for  athletic  sports 
and  martial  exercises  was  equalled  by  his  prowess  and 
success  in  both  directions. 

A  man  of  such  varied  accomplishments,  of  a  vigorous 
and  original  intellect,  and  possessed  of  a  suave  and  gen- 
erous disposition,  at  once  captivating  all  who  knew  him 
and  ensuring  his  popularity  with  the  multitude,  could 
not  fail  to  make  his  way  in  the  world  and  to  leave  his 
mark  upon  the  times.  His  public  life  began  when  he 
was  of  the  age  of  twenty-four,  and  divides  itself  into 
three  periods — viz.,  thirteen  years  in  the  archiepiscopal 
court  of  Canterbury,  seven  years  as  chancellor  of  Eng- 
land and  eight  years  as  archbishop  of  the  patriarchal  see. 
In  each  of  these  offices  he  sought  diligently  to  do  his 
duty.  He  had,  indeed,  a  remarkably  keen  sense  of 
responsibility,  recognizing  the  obligations  and  the  re- 
quirements of  station ;  so  that  when  one  suggested  that 
the  archdeacon  of  Canterbury  might  possibly  some  day 
become  archbishop  he  declared  that  others  were  more 
worthy  of  it  than  he,  and,  were  he  such,  he  would  either 
lose  the  king's  favor  or  set  aside  his  duty  to  God.  His 
was  not  a  master-spirit — one  that  controlled  life  and 
made  position,  power,  wealth  and  ability  subservient  to 
its  purposes  ;*  rather,  with  him,  the  office  moulded  the 
man  than  the  man  the  office.  As  archdeacon  he  won 
universal  praise,  notwithstanding  the  common  question, 
An  possit  archidiacofius  salvus  esse  ?  He  was  enthusias- 
tically true  to  his  patron  and  superior,  Theobald ;  and 
when  Henry  H.  gave  him  the  chancellorship,  he  trans- 
ferred to  the  king  all  the  loyalty  and  all  the  devotion 
which  had  previously  marked  his  career.     The  highest 


THE    GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  317 

civil  officer  in  the  realm,  he  assumed  a  becoming  magnif- 
icence of  station  ;  his  hospitality  was  as  boundless  as  his 
efforts  to  do  his  royal  master's  will  were  unstinted.  But 
in  the  midst  of  the  pomp  and  splendor  such  as  no  chan- 
cellor had  ever  before  maintained  he  observed  a  personal 
abstemiousness  rare  indeed  even  among  the  churchmen 
of  his  day.  He  entertained  the  rich ;  he  was  liberal  to 
the  poor.  The  plainest  fare  and  the  hardest  bed  were 
sufficient  for  him,  and  he  stood  unimpeachable  among 
the  few  whose  lives  were  pure  and  whose  reputations 
were  unstained.  On  the  Continent  he  appeared  at  the 
head  of  the  English  chivalry,  and  not  only  maintained 
in  his  train  more  than  a  thousand  horse  and  half  as  many 
knights  and  gentlemen,  and  by  the  splendor  of  his  reti- 
nue suggested  the  greater  splendor  of  the  royalty  of 
England,  but  also  on  the  fields  of  battle  did  deeds  wor- 
thy of  one  highly  accomplished  in  the  profession  of  arms, 
winning  the  admiration  alike  of  friend  and  of  foe.  The 
king's  enemies  had  reason  to  fear  the  fiery,  stalwart  man 
who  stood  at  his  right  hand,  and  to  mourn  the  desolation 
which  his  victorious  progress  wrought. 

Modern  theories  of  ecclesiastical  polity  and  the  inabil- 
ity to  regard  the  twelfth  century  otherwise  than  in  the 
light  of  the  nineteenth  make  difficult  a  fair  judgment 
upon  Thomas  as  archbishop,  but  no  one  who  values 
righteousness  and  equity,  the  good  order  which  follows 
from  a  firm  and  just  administration  of  law,  can  question 
the  good  work  done  by  Thomas  as  chancellor.  He  came 
to  power  at  a  time  when  England  was  struggling  to 
recover  herself  from  the  anarchy  and  chaos  created  by 
the  weak  rule  and  the  lawless  reign  of  Stephen.  In 
those  nineteen  years  of  woeful  trouble  justice  seemed 


3l8  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

to  have  left  the  land,  peace  had  fled  as  the  summer  birds 
flee  before  the  coming  of  the  chill  winds  of  winter,  life 
was  insecure,  the  fields  were  left  unsown  and  the  har- 
vests ungathered,  and  the  blood  of  contending  factions 
mingled  with  the  waters  of  mountain-spring  and  meadow- 
stream.  Thickly  scattered  throughout  the  country  were 
armed  strongholds  of  rebellious  lords,  who  defied  both 
king  and  right,  laid  waste  the  homes  and  the  steads  of 
the  weak  and  the  defenceless,  and  immured  in  dark  dun- 
geons or  cruelly  tortured  or  put  to  death  any  who  stood 
in  their  way  and  haplessly  fell  into  their  power.  The 
lawlessness  which  prevailed  in  the  State  prevailed  also 
in  the  Church.  Reforms  which  Lanfranc  and  Anselm 
had  effected  were  set  back.  Bishops  could  not  rule  and 
priests  would  not  obey.  There  was  neither  discipline 
nor  punishment,  and  they  who  ministered  in  holy  things 
and  served  at  God's  altars  vied  with  the  laity  in  the  bit- 
terness of  their  passions  and  in  the  looseness  of  their 
lives.  At  no  time  since  kings  began  to  reign  in  Eng- 
land has  there  been  a  darker,  more  unhappy,  cruder 
age.  Might  prevailed — the  might  of  brutal,  redeless 
force ;  right  was  disregarded — the  right  of  the  weak  to 
the  protection  of  the  strong  and  of  the  subject  to  justice 
in  the  courts  of  the  monarch.  Against  this  deplorable 
wretchedness  Henry  II. — the  ruddy-faced  Shortmantle — 
made  stern  and  unflinching  resistance,  and  in  his  efforts 
he  was  nobly  and  effectively  assisted  by  the  chancellor. 
There  was  no  injustice  with  Thomas.  He  gave  a  right 
judgment  in  all  things,  and  both  king  and  people  rec- 
ognized his  power  as  a  statesman  and  a  defender  of  the 
dignities  and  the  privileges  of  the  law.  Evil-doers 
feared  him ;  rebellious  nobles  and  bishops  bowed  before 


THE   GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  319 

him ;  the  castles  of  the  oppressors  were  demolished ; 
peace  and  confidence  came  back  again  to  the  worn  and 
wearied  land ;  and  side  by  side  and  hand  in  hand  stood 
king  and  minister,  firmly,  wisely  and  with  singleness  of 
heart  to  punish  wrong,  to  reward  right,  and  to  make 
their  realm  and  their  people  a  power  and  a  glory  in 
the  earth. 

Possibly,  judging  from  a  national  rather  than  from  an 
ecclesiastical  standpoint,  Henry  erred  when,  in  1162,  he 
promoted  his  favorite  minister  to  the  archbishopric  of 
Canterbury,  for  the  archbishop  was  next  to  the  king  in 
things  secular  and  superior  to  the  king  in  things 
spiritual,  being  both  a  prince  of  the  State  and  a  prince 
of  the  Church.  But  that  was  the  only  reward  Henry 
could  give.  He  probably  thought  that,  as  archbishop, 
Thomas  would  more  ably  further  his  purposes,  and, 
though  some  at  the  time  disputed  the  wisdom  of  the 
appointment,  none  doubted  that  Thomas  would  as  arch- 
bishop carry  on  what  as  chancellor  he  had  begun.  But 
few  understood  him.  His  devotion  to  duty  in  the  high 
abstract  sense  escaped  the  attention  of  his  nearest  friends ; 
and  it  is  one  of  the  remarkable  characteristics  of  Thomas, 
testifying  at  once  to  his  worth  and  to  his  kindliness  of 
heart,  th^t  he  succeeded  in  winning  to  himself  the  warm- 
est affection  of  those  around  him — of  Henry  himself  as 
well  as  of  the  faithful  monk  who  stood  bravely  by  him 
in  the  hour  of  martyrdom.  To  some,  both  in  his  own 
day  and  in  ours,  Thomas  the  chancellor  is  one  man  and 
Thomas  the  archbishop  is  another,  but  such  a  judgment 
is  superficial  and  unjust.  He  was  the  same  in  both  of- 
fices; only  in  the  one  he  lived  and  did  his  duty  as  a  ser- 
vant of  an  earthly  sovereign  and  a  minister  of  an  earthly 


320  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

kingdom ;  in  the  other  he  Hved  and  did  his  duty  as  the 
servant  of  a  heavenly  King  and  the  minister  of  a  king- 
dom that  is  not  of  this  world.  When  he  passed  from 
the  service  of  Theobald  to  the  service  of  Henry,  he 
transferred  all  his  loyalty  and  all  his  ability  to  his  new 
master ;  so  now,  again,  in  passing  from  an  office  under 
Henry  to  an  office  under  God  he  transferred  the  same 
loyalty  and  the  same  ability  from  the  one  to  the  other. 
As  soon  as  he  became  archbishop  and  perceived  that 
so  holy  an  office  demanded  a  corresponding  holiness  of 
life,  and  that  in  that  office  he  would  have  to  break  with 
one  of  his  best  friends — even  with  the  king,  to  whom  he 
had  been  so  dear  and  to  whom  he  owed  so  much — he 
hesitated  not  to  lay  aside  the  magnificence  and  the  advan- 
tage of  his  previous  station,  and  to  stand  before  the 
world  as  an  Elijah  had  done  before  Ahab  and  an  Am- 
brose before  Theodosius.  His  purity  and  his  abstemi- 
ousness of  life  are  urged  on  into  asceticism  and  mortifi- 
cation :  he  keeps  long  fasts  and  observes  wearisome 
night-vigils,  wears  coarse  and  unwashen  sackcloth  next 
to  his  skin,  submits  his  back  to  the  scourge  and  his  con- 
science to  the  confessor,  deprives  himself  of  pleasures 
which  he  loved,  and,  according  to  the  light  of  the  age 
and  to  his  own  ideal  of  piety,  sought  to  live  the  life  of  a 
saintly  prelate.  It  may  not  have  been  from  conviction 
so  much  as  from  a  sense  of  du|y.  Such  things  were 
expected  of  an  archbishop :  he  was  an  archbishop,  and 
an  archbishop  he  would  be.  He  was  sincere,  therefore, 
though  perhaps  artificial ;  and  had  he  been  as  success- 
ful in  subduing  the  old  fiery  passions  of  his  soul  as  he 
was  in  conforming  his  outward  life  to  the  requirements 
of  i.is  exalted  order,  he  would  have  passed  as  a  more 


THE    GL  OR  V  OF  CANTERB  UR  Y.  3  2  I 

exact  likeness  of  the  pure  and  holy  Anselm,  whom  he 
seems  to  have  set  up  as  his  exemplar. 

The  change  of  the  gay  robes  of  the  statesman  for  the 
sable  gown  of  the  monk  was  the  first  outward  and  vis- 
ible sign  of  the  inward  change  of  allegiance  and  loyalty. 
Ere  long  began  the  conflict  between  king  and  primate. 
To  a  man  of  Thomas's  character  it  was  sure  to  come, 
since,  as  archbishop  and  the  defender  of  the  rights  of 
the  clergy,  he  could  not  allow  things  which  he  had  toler- 
ated, and  even  supported,  as  chancellor  and  the  defender 
of  the  rights  of  the  king.  The  relationship  of  Church 
and  State  was  one  of  the  problems  of  that  age.  They 
who  readily  take  the  side  of  the  State  must  remember 
that  in  those  days  great  and  good  men  espoused  the 
cause  and  advanced  the  claims  of  the  Church.  So  far 
as  high  conscientiousness  and  purity  of  intention  go,  the 
ecclesiastical  party  was  far  the  nobler  and  the  better : 
no  one  would  venture  to  compare  Anselm  and  Rufus  or 
Gregory  VII.  and  Henry  IV.;  and  if,  taught  by  the  ex- 
perience of  the  ages  and  by  sounder  principles  of  social 
economy,  we  hold  that  they  were  wrong  in  their  theories 
and  their  judgments,  we  must  admit  that  their  hearts 
were  right  and  their  purposes  were  honest.  The  prin- 
ciple of  feudalism — by  which  one  of  low  degree  became 
the  man  of  one  of  high  degree,  and  the  latter,  in  his  turn, 
the  man  of  another  still  higher,  and  so  on  till  the  kings 
became  the  men  of  the  emperor — lay  largely  at  the  root 
of  the  matter.  It  was  thought  impossible,  as  we  have 
seen,  for  the  clergy  of  the  most  high  God  to  give  hom- 
age to  the  princes  and  the  nobles  of  the  earth,  and  to 
receive  of  them  the  Lord's  inheritance ;  as  the  yeoman 
swore  allegiance  to  the  earl,  so  did  the  priest  to  the 
21 


322  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

bishop ;  and  as  the  earl  to  the  king,  so  the  bishop  to  the 
metropoHtan  ;  and  as  the  king  to  the  emperor,  so  the 
metropoHtan  to  the  pope.  The  emperor  and  the  pope 
were  compared — the  former  to  the  moon,  shining  with 
borrowed  Hght ;  the  latter  to  the  sun,  whose  brilliancy 
and  power  were  inherent  and  divine ;  and  as  the  prince 
of  the  day  was  mightier  than  the  ruler  of  the  night,  so 
he  who  as  the  vicar  of  God  sat  in  the  chair  of  St.  Peter 
was  the  lord  of  him  who  wore  the  purple  of  the  Caesars 
and  the  iron  crown  of  Charlemagne.  Thus  the  secular 
and  the  spiritual  economies  were  regarded  as  separate 
and  complete  each  in  itself,  though  the  former  was  in- 
ferior arid  eventually  siabject  to  the  latter.  The  results 
of  such  a  theory  were  manifest.  The  Church,  with  its 
estates,  clergy  and  vassals,  was  exempt  from  all  temporal 
jurisdiction  whatever.  As  in  the  reign  of  the  second 
Norman  Anselm  could  not  of  the  Red  King  receive  in- 
vestiture, so  in  the  reign  of  the  first  Plantagenet  no 
cleric  could  accept  the.  judgment  of  a  lay  court.  Nor 
had  the  State  shown  itself  altogether  worthy  of  the 
trust  of  equity :  the  arm  of  the  mighty  silenced  the 
voice  of  the  just,  and  too  often  the  king's  judges  were 
ignorant  and  regardless  of  the  first  principles  of  law  or 
of  right.  Besides,  the  term  *'  clergy  "  did  not  include 
only  men  of  sacerdotal  and  monastic  orders :  all  who 
could  read  and  write  obtained  the  privilege  and  the  pro- 
tection of  the  Church.  For  them  was  surer  justice  in 
the  bishop's  court  than  in  the  king's,  and  the  tenderer 
mercies  and  the  milder  judgments  of  the  former  were 
better  than  the  tortures  and  the  rude  chances  of  the 
latter.  The  question  was  not  so  much  of  clergy  against 
laity  as  of  scholars  against  illiterates,  of  the  gentle  against 


THE    GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  323 

the  strong.  The  Crown,  however,  could  scarcely  toler- 
ate an  hnperium  in  imperio.  Royal  justice  might  not  be 
so  righteous  as  episcopal  justice;  but  when  the  criminal 
could  easily  escape  from  the  one  jurisdiction  to  the  other, 
in  the  end  there  would  be  no  justice  at  all.  Nor  could 
the  bishop  inflict  a  higher  sentence  than  excommunica- 
tion— a  terrible  sentence  as  beliefs  and  opinions  went 
then,  but  not  so  terrible  as  the  lash  or  the  block,  the 
prison  or  the  rope.  The  principle  of  government,  as  it 
was  understood  by  the  kings — who,  for  the  most  part, 
were  as  honestly  desirous  of  the  well-being  of  their  sub- 
jects as  they  were  for  the  maintenance  of  their  own 
power — admitted  but  one  supreme  authority,  to  which 
all  men  must  be  equally  amenable  and  responsible.  The 
same  law  must  apply  alike  to  priest  and  layman,  to  baron 
and  bishop ;  and,  though  the  law  were  bad  or  its  execu- 
tion were  defective,  that  did  not  in  any  sense  change  or 
affect  the  principle. 

But  the  clergy  saw  things  differently,  and  the  arch- 
bishop strenuously  resisted  the  efforts  of  Henry  to  sub- 
ject them  and  their  estates  to  the  royal  tribunals.  The 
king  was  perplexed  and  astonished ;  to  him  it  seemed 
as  if  Thomas  had  reversed  every  principle  of  his  life. 
That  which  he  had  once  denounced  he  now  defended, 
but  he  was  then  a  statesman  and  now  a  prelate,  and  it 
was  his  aim  to  do  his  duty  in  whatever  place  his  lot  was 
cast.  He  had  no  abstract  views  as  to  the  rights  of  the 
clergy ;  he  had  no  more  interest  in  the  great  controversy 
of  the  age,  so  far  as  principle  went,  than  the  caliph  him- 
self; only  he  was  now  the  guardian  of  what  were  known 
as  their  rights,  and  therefore  those  rights  he  would  pro- 
tect to  the  severing  of  the  king's  friendship,  and  even  to 


324  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

the  shedding  of  his  own  blood.  A  difficult  and  danger- 
ous man,  that — difficult  because  he  could  not  be  reached 
by  arguments  as  to  theories,  the  fact  of  what  was  ex- 
pected of  him  alone  swaying  him,  and  dangerous  because 
he  would  stay  at  nothing  to  further  those  expectations. 

To  trace  out  in  detail  the  progress  and  development 
of  the  dispute  between  Henry  and  Thomas  is  beyond 
our  purpose,  but  one  fact  at  least  was  plain :  if  the  Nor- 
man bishops  and  barons  were  largely  with  the  king,  the 
masses  of  the  English  people  took  even  more  decidedly 
the  part  of  the  archbishop.  Thomas  was  the  first  man 
of  English  blood  since  the  Conquest  raised  to  the  dig- 
nity of  Canterbury.  His  stand  against  royal  encroach- 
ment, however  it  may  have  been  regarded  by  the  supe- 
rior classes,  was  looked  upon  by  the  people  as  the  pro- 
test of  a  patriot  against  a  race  which  for  a  century  had 
held  fast  the  crown  of  England. 

The  quarrel  seemed  near  settlement  when  in  January, 
1 1 64,  the  king,  prelates  and  earls  met  and  agreed  upon 
the  "  Constitutions  of  Clarendon."  These  constitutions, 
sixteen  in  number,  among  other  things,  subjected  the 
clergy  to  the  royal  courts,  put  ecclesiastical  dignities 
at  the  disposal  of  the  king,  forbade  appeals  to  Rome 
and  made  the  sovereign  the  virtual  head  of  the  Church. 
Apparently,  after  much  persuasion  and  many  threaten- 
ings,  Thomas  agreed  to  their  provisions,  but  he  imme- 
diately repented  of  having  betrayed  the  interests  he  had 
been  ordained  to  defend.  His  remorse  led  him  to  de- 
nounce both  the  document  and  his  own  conduct.  Henry, 
offended  beyond  forgiveness,  determined  upon  his  ruin. 
In  the  autumn  of  that  -year  the  archbishop  was  sum- 
moned to  appear  for  trial  before  the  king  at  Northamp- 


THE   GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  325 

ton.  He  did  so,  but,  despairing  of  justice  and  fearing 
the  severity  of  his  enemies,  he  managed  to  escape  to 
France,  where  he  remained  for  the  next  six  years.  From 
the  Cistercian  monastery  of  Pontigny,  about  twelve 
leagues  from  Sens,  where  in  the  beginning  of  his  exile 
he  had  had  a  gratifying  interview  with  Alexander  III., 
Thomas  retorted  upon  his  foes  beyond  the  sea  with 
denunciations  and  threats.  Some  of  the  clergy  he  ex- 
communicated, and  all  he  freed  from  obeying  the  Con- 
stitutions of  Clarendon.  In  the  spring  of  1166  he  pur- 
posed uttering  his  ban  against  the  king,  but  upon  hear- 
ing that  the  king  was  ill  he  satisfied  himself  with  urging 
him  to  repentance.  Henry  answered  by  threatening  to 
confiscate  every  Cistercian  abbey  in  his  dominions  if  the 
abbot  of  Pontigny  continued  to  harbor  the  archbishop ; 
so  Thomas  went  to  Sens,  and  found  there  a  refuge  in 
the  pleasant  house  of  St.  Columba. 

All  efforts  at  reconciliation  failed,  till,  upon  the  arch- 
bishop of  York  officiating  at  the  coronation  of  Henry's 
son,  Thomas  was  stirred  to  desperation.  In  1170  the 
king  broke  his  promise  of  an  interview,  and  the  arch- 
bishop immediately  excommunicated  a  number  of  prel- 
ates and  proceeded  to  England,  His  reception  at  Can- 
terbury was  magnificent  and  enthusiastic ;  but  when,  in 
Normandy,  Henry  heard  thereof  and  listened  to  the 
appeals  of  the  excommunicated  bishops,  he  made  the 
fatal  exclamation,  "  Of  the  cowards  who  eat  my  bread, 
is  there  not  one  who  will  free  me  from  this  turbulent 
priest?"  Four  knights  at  once  set  out  for  Canterbury. 
On  the  twenty-ninth  day  of  December  they  reached  the 
city,  and,  finding  the  archbishop,  they  threatened  him 
with    death    unless   he    absolved   the   excommunicated 


326  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

bishops.  "  In  vain,"  he  cried,  "  do  you  threaten  me. 
If  all  the  swords  in  England  were  brandishing  over  my 
head,  your  terrors  could  not  move  me.  Foot  to  foot 
you  will  find  me  fighting  the  battle  of  the  Lord."  They 
left  him,  to  gather  their  men;  the  doomed  prelate,  accom- 
panied by  some  of  his  clergy,  entered  the  cathedral. 
The  chanting  of  vespers  was  going  on,  and  with  the 
thickening  winter-twilight  the  music  added  to  the  weird- 
ness  of  the  hour.  Some  urged  escape,  but  Thomas 
refused,  and  proceeded  up  the  steps  toward  the  choir. 
At  this  moment  the  knights  rushed  into  the  church. 
The  gloom  of  the  great  building  was  broken  only  by 
the  thin  rays  of  the  lamps  which  burned  before  the 
different  altars.  The  group  of  figures  on  the  choir  steps 
could  scarcely  be  discerned.  *'  Where  is  the  traitor  ?" 
shouted  the  knights,  but  none  answered.  "  Where  is 
the  archbishop  ?"  they  asked. — "  Here,"  said  Thomas. 
"  No  traitor,  but  a  priest  of  God.  What  will  ye  ?" 
He  passed  down  the  steps  and  stood  between  the  north 
side  of  the  entrance  to  St.  Benedict's  chapel  and  the 
pillar  in  the  transept.  "  Flee,"  exclaimed  one  of  the 
soldiers,  "  else  thou  art  a  dead  man." — "  Nay,"  he  re- 
plied ;  '*  I  fear  not  your  swords.  In  the  Lord's  name 
I  welcome  death  for  God  and  for  the  Church's  freedom." 
The  knights  sought  to  drag  him  from  the  sacred  place, 
but  he  set  his  back  against  the  pillar  and  successfully 
resisted  them.  The  clergy  and  the  monks  had  fled ; 
only  three  remained,  among  them  the  faithful  and  heroic 
Grim.  Further  words  passed.  "  Strike  !  strike  !"  shout- 
ed one  of  the  knights.  The  archbishop  bowed  his  neck 
and  clasped  his  hands  over  his  eyes.  A  sword  gleamed 
swiftly  in  the  air,  and,  almost  severing  the  uplifted  arm 


THE    GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  327 

of  the  true-hearted  Grim,  it  fell  upon  the  bared  and 
bended  head.  Then  came  blow  upon  blow,  and  Thomas 
dropped  to  the  ground.  "  Into  thy  hands,  O  Lord,  I 
commend  my  spirit,"  were  his  last  words.  The  mur- 
derers clave  his  skull  and  covered  the  pavement  with 
his  blood  and  brains.  "  He  will  rise  no  more,"  one 
shouted.     "  Come !  let  us  be  off." 

The  calm  of  night  came  on ;  silently  glimmered  the 
altar-lamps.  By  and  by  the  monks  and  the  clergy  drew 
near  the  dead  prelate  and  with  the  aid  of  their  torches 
beheld  the  woeful  spectacle.  Weeping  they  prepared 
the  body  for  burial,  and  the  long  hours  they  watched 
beside  it  were  disturbed  by  a  terrible  storm  of  rain  and 
thunder  and  by  a  darkness  which  might  be  felt  On 
the  morrow  no  mass  was  said,  no  bells  were  rung; 
quietly  and  sadly  the  archbishop  was  laid  to  rest  in  the 
crypt.  For  a  year  the  desecrated  church  was  deserted 
and  left  to  dust  and  decay ;  then  to  Canterbury  came 
an  outburst  of  glory  which  did  more  to  fulfil  the  pur- 
pose of  Theodore  than  the  greatest  of  the  prelates  had 
done. 

On  St.  Thomas's  day,  1171,  in  the  presence  of  many 
prelates  and  nobles  and  a  vast  congregation,  a  solemn 
service  was  held  in  the  choir.  Later  the  excommuni- 
cated bishops,  convinced  of  their  errors  and  sorry  for 
their  past  conduct,  came  and  by  the  tomb  of  the  mar- 
tyr passed  a  night  in  penitence,  fasting  and  prayer.  In 
March,  1173,  the  pope  issued  his  bull  of  canonization, 
all  Europe  looking  toward  the  place  where  now  a  great 
saint  was  enshrined  and  marvellous  miracles  were 
wrought.  July  12,  1176,  witnessed  Henry  himself 
prostrate  before  the  tomb,  weeping  for  the  days  gone  by 


328  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

and  submitting  his  back  to  the  whip.  Three  times  did 
each  of  the  eighty  monks  of  Christchurch  strike  the 
king,  and  at  each  stroke  were  said  the  words,  "  Even  as 
Christ  was  scourged  for  the  sins  of  men,  so  be  thou 
scourged  for  thine  own  sins."  With  the  years  grew  the 
fame  of  the  martyr.  Treasures  were  freely  given  to 
enrich  the  place  of  his  sepulture.  Pilgrims  flocked 
there  from  all  parts  of  England,  and  not  unfrequently 
from  distant  countries  of  Europe.  Miracles  were  per- 
formed in  abundance,  and  for  three  hundred  years  the 
martyr  of  Canterbury  was  esteemed  among  the  first  of 
the  saints  of  Christendom.  True,  he  was  not  long- 
suffering,  gentle  or  meek;  he  had  neither  the  ability 
of  a  Lanfranc  nor  the  grace  of  an  Anselm ;  but,  sincere, 
disinterested,  courageous  and  chivalrous,  he  fought  a 
battle  for  the  triumph  of  liberty  over  regal  despotism, 
of  moral  right  over  physical  force,  and  of  the  kingdom 
of  God  over  the  kingdom  of  men.  His  principles  he 
sealed  with  his  blood,  and  England  learned  to  forgive 
his  shortcomings  and  to.  forget  his  infirmities  in  grati- 
tude for  the  example  he  set  of  freedom  and  constancy. 
Possibly  he  would  have  substituted  an  ecclesiastical  rule 
for  a  secular  one  :  such  seems  the  drift  of  his  mind ; 
but  neither  he  nor  Henry  was  destined  to  succeed.  If 
history  reveals  the  mind  of  God,  that  mind  is  that 
neither  Church  nor  State,  neither  king  nor  bishop,  shall 
be  supreme,  but  each  in  its  or  his  own  sphere  independ- 
ent, rendering  unto  God  the  things  which  are  God's,  and 
to  Caesar  the  things  which  are  Caesar's. 

Whatever  may  have  been  the  intrinsic  merit  of  the 
three  prelates  who  together  make  the  glory  of  Canter- 
bury, certainly  the  primacy  for  which  they  strived  has 


THE    GLORY  OF  CANTERBURY.  329 

remained  and  they  themselves  are  held  in  high  honor. 
England  within  that  century  gave  a  pope  to  Christen- 
dom— Nicholas  Brakespere,  Adrian  IV.,  the  only  one 
of  her  sons  to  whom  the  tiara  has  fallen ;  but  greater 
than  he  and  better  remembered  than  he  were  Lanfranc 
the  statesman,  Anselm  the  saint  and  Becket  the  martyr. 


CHAPTER    XII. 

JTlje  (Bnitutj)  of  Spl^ttlror. 

The  thirteenth  century  is  remarkable  for  the  intensity 
of  its  rehgious,  political  and  social  life,  and  for  the  many 
able  men  which  it  produced ;  it  is  also  unrivalled  for  its 
splendor  of  conception,  grandeur  of  execution,  magnitude 
of  design  and  startling  climaxes.  As  a  rule,  time  flows 
gently  onward  and  advances  are  made  gradually,  almost 
imperceptibly,  just  as  infancy  changes  into  youth  and 
youth  into  manhood ;  but  this  is  a  period  in  which  revo- 
lutions are  sudden,  transformations  are  rapid  and  growth 
is  strangely  visible.  Disregard  for  the  past  and  a  daring 
originality  mark  its  movements.  Even  the  era  of  the 
later  Renascence  and  the  Reformation  is  not  more  active, 
more  reckless  of  consequences  or  more  astonishingly 
complex.  It  contains  the  noblest  and  the  best  elements 
of  mediaevalism,  and  displays  its  most  magnificent  mis- 
takes and  its  most  splendid  virtues.  Its  glory  is  shown 
in  men  such  as  Innocent  III.,  Frederick  II.,  Edward  I., 
Thomas  Aquinas,  Dominic  of  Castile,  Francis  of  Assisi, 
Roger  Bacon  and  Dante.  Like  a  day  beginning  and 
ending  in  clouds,  it  arises  out  of  an  age  of  mediocrity, 
and,  as  though  the  world  had  become  exhausted  with 
its  violent  efforts,  it  was  followed  by  two  centuries  of 
gloom  and  dulness,  deepening  with  every  decade  until 
night  seemed  almost  to  have  changed  into  death.     But 

330 


THE   CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  33 1 

while  it  lasted  Europe  was  alive  with  all  the  vigor  and 
ambition  of  youth,  and  with  restless,  dazzling  brilliancy 
genius  after  genius  lightened  up  earth's  dark  and  cloud- 
cumbered  sky,  and  with  impetuous  and  daring  boldness 
was  done  deed  after  deed  the  consequences  of  which 
affect  even  the  nineteenth  century  and  the  echoes  of 
which  will  die  only  when  time  itself  shall  cease. 

The  social  life  shows  that  advances  were  being  made 
out  of  the  barbarism  which  had  prevailed  for  half  a  mil- 
lennium into  the  civilization  which  has  finally  made  man 
what  he  is  to-day.  The  country  was  no  more  disfigured 
with  castles  whose  gloomy  walls  and  massive  keeps 
served  alike  to  intimidate  invaders  and  to  strengthen 
oppression  ;  nor  did  tyrants  confine  captives  in  dungeons 
below  the  water-line  of  the  moat,  either  to  die  of  starva- 
tion, cold  or  rats  or,  by  the  ingenious  pulling  out  of  a 
plug  in  the  wall  whereby  the  water  rushed  in,  to  be 
drowned.  Cruel  punishments  were  still  administered, 
but  it  was  in  the  name  of  law  rather  than  by  irresponsi- 
ble whim.  The  rich  began  to  build  open  airy  mansions, 
in  case  of  need  capable  of  defence,  but  with  gardens, 
wide  windows,  ornamented  doorways,  and  other  features 
which  betokened  the  passing  away  of  the  wolf-spirit. 
Within,  the  rooms  made  some  approach  to  comfort. 
The  baron  still  ate  with  his  guests  and  retainers  in  the 
great  hall,  his  table — a  long  board  upon  tressels — always 
standing  and  his  chair  a  rude  bench;  but  he  had  a 
"  withdrawing-room,"  hung  with  tapestry,  in  which  to 
receive  his  friends  and  to  hold  converse  with  his  family, 
and  a  bedroom  in  which,  upon  a  mattress  raised  .from 
the  floor  and  made  of  softer  materials  than  straw  or 
leaves,  to  pass  the   night.     Chimneys — apparently  un- 


332  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY, 

known  to  the  Romans  and  the  early  EngHsh — were 
rapidly  coming  into  vogue.  Hitherto,  from  the  fire, 
made  of  logs  and  peat  and  kindled  in  the  midst  of  the 
hall,  and  from  the  torches,  sometimes  composed  of  wax, 
but  more  frequently  of  bound  rushes  or  of  hemp  dipped 
in  tallow,  pitch  and  rosin,  the  smoke  was  left  to  find  its 
way  out  at  a  hole  in  the  roof  and  through  the  doors  and 
windows.  Hence  the  old  writers  often  refer  to  the  sooti- 
ness  of  the  chambers,  and  to  the  soreness  of  eyes  caused 
by  the  smoke  and  the  smother.  The  lattice,  or  casement, 
originally  made  narrow,  so  that  no  one  could  enter 
thereby,  though  intended  for  light,  and  therefore  by  the 
Anglo-Saxons  called  the  "  eye-thrill  "  and  the  *'  eye- 
door,"  was  also  a  place  through  which  the  wind  came 
in  ;  hence  its  name  "  wind-eye."  At  night  and  during 
cold  or  storm  it  was  simply  closed  by  wooden  shutters 
or  covered  with  canvas,  but  now  glass  came  into  use. 
Furniture  and  clothes  were  more  elaborate,  each  article 
unique,  being  made  by  craftsmen  on  the  spot.  Educa- 
tion, too,  received  an  impetus;  of  the  universities  of 
Europe,  fifty-six  were  founded  in  the  twelfth,  thirteenth 
and  fourteenth  centuries — among  those  of  this  century, 
Oxford,  Cambridge,  Padua,  Salamanca  and  Lisbon.  The 
students  were,  indeed,  oftentimes  so  poor  that  they  had 
to  labor  for  their  sustenance,  frequently  receiving  a 
license  under  the  seal  of  the  university  to  beg,  but  the 
desire  for  knowledge  increased.  It  has  been  supposed 
that  the  "  Long  Vacation  "  was  designed  to  allow  mem- 
bers of  the  universities  to  assist  at  the  ingathering  of  the 
harvest.  In  the  towns  the  merchant-guilds  and  the  craft- 
guilds  were  both  asserting  and  maintaining  their  rights 
and  laying  the  foundations   of  commercial  prosperity. 


THE   CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  333 

On  the  whole,  the  classes  commonly  called  "well-to- 
do  "  were  attaining  to  comforts  and  conveniences  and  to 
a  state  of  society  in  which  life  was  gentle  and  enjoyable. 
But  the  condition  of  the  poor  at  the  beginning  of  this 
century  was  deplorable.  In  the  narrow,  undrained  and 
unlighted  lanes  both  of  city  and  of  village  they  herded 
together  without  regard  to  decency  or  to  cleanliness. 
Their  home — if  the  wood-and-clay-built  hovel  which 
barely  kept  out  the  rain  could  be  called  '*  home  " — con- 
sisted of  one  small,  dark,  low-roofed  and  unventilated 
room.  The  floor  was  the  ground  itself  covered  with 
straw  or  rushes,  which  from  dampness,  trampling  and 
refuse  became  matted  and  foul,  breeding  diseases  now 
uncommon.  Furniture  was  scarce.  On  the  floor  slept 
the  members  of  the  family,  by  their  side  a  dog  or  a  goat 
and  on  a  pole  across  a  corner  a  few  fowl.  The  food 
was  coarse  and  scanty — a  dietary  rarely  extending 
beyond  rye  or  barley  bread  ground  by  hand  and  baked 
in  the  ashes,  beets  and  onions,  wild  berries,  porridge, 
salt  beef,  small-beer,  once  in  a  while  a  fish  or  a  bird 
caught  at  the  risk  of  the  stocks  or  the  lock-up,  and  an 
occasional  bacon-bone  or  swan-picking  from  the  abbey 
or  the  castle.  They  used  wooden  bowls,  and  spoons 
of  the  same  material ;  even  in  good  society  forks  were 
unknown.  At  the  table  of  the  rich,  instead  of  on  a 
trencher,  the  meat  was  served  on  a  thick  slice  of  black 
bread ;  and  when  done  with,  the  bread,  with  other 
scraps,  was  thrown  into  a  basket,  the  contents  of  which 
at  the  close  of  the  meal  were  given  to  the  motley  crowd 
of  paupers,  dogs  and  swine  at  the  gate.  Beggars  sat 
and  plied  their  trade  at  the  market-place  cross,  attract- 
ing attention  by  a  "  clack-dish  " — an  alms-basket  with  a 


334  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY, 

clapper;  hence  a  familiar  proverb.  Neither  body  nor 
clothing  was  washed ;  a  bath  on  coming  into  the  world 
and  one  on  going  out  sufficed  for  the  former,  and  gar- 
ments were  unremoved  till  they  literally  dropped  to 
pieces.  Work  was  badly  paid,  and  in  the  mass  of  filth 
vice  and  crime  abounded.  The  utter  misery  unrelieved 
by  any  hope  of  better  things  is  shown  by  the  brutal, 
sottish  life,  diseased  with  scurvy,  smitten  frequently  by 
leprosy  and  commonly  ending  either  by  violence  or  by 
plague.  People  killed  one  another,  and  sometimes, 
when  they  had  no  one  else  to  kill,  they  killed  them- 
selves. Thus  the  masses  of  Europe,  steeped  in  a  fes- 
tering pool  of  degradation  and  vileness,  dragged  out 
their  terrible  existence ;  nor  did  the  hangman's  rope, 
though  liberally  used,  either  diminish  or  alleviate  their 
wretchedness. 

The  blame  of  this  state  of  affairs  lies  rather  against 
the  age  than  against  any  department  of  the  age.  Never- 
theless, as  the  better  classes  advanced  in  prosperity  and 
in  comfort  the  gulf  between  them  and  the  masses 
widened,  and  in  time  became  next  to  impassable.  Nor 
were  the  clergy  successful  in  bringing  the  ends  of 
society  together.  By  the  increase  of  riches  and  the 
growth  of  learning  they  who  should  have  been  the 
friends  of  the  poor  were  too  often  alienated.  The  slums 
were  left  to  themselves ;  neither  priest  nor  monk  had 
aught  in  common  with  those  who  congregated  there. 
The  churches  were  filled,  but  only  with  the  well  clad; 
the  ragged,  thin-jawed  pauper,  dirty  and  diseased,  rarely 
entered  the  sacred  precincts.  Few  thought  of  him  ;  he  was 
simply  passed  by.  The  age  was  religious  without  being 
philanthropic  and  prosperous  without  being  charitable. 


THE   CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  335 

No  one's  conscience  seems  to  have  been  moved  at  the 
spectacle  of  misery,  no  one's  heart  affected.     The  monks 
were   a   respectable  body  ^of  gentlemen,   but  from  the 
nature   and   surroundings   of  their   vocation   unable  to 
touch   the    outside   and    the   lower   world.      To   their 
dependants  they  were  considerate,  and  to  the  stranger 
hospitable ;  they  gave  a  home  to  the  indigent,  the  sick 
and  the  aged,  and  afforded  a  refuge  to  the  defenceless ; 
but  they  seldom  ventured  beyond  the  prescribed  duties 
hereby  involved  and  those  of  study,  prayer  and  fasting, 
of  repairing  buildings,  taking  care  of  lands  and  illumi- 
nating   manuscripts    or   keeping   records.      The   parish 
clergy  were  busy  enough  with  the  people  actually  under 
their  care,  and  what  leisure  they  had  was  devoted  to 
tilling   the   glebe,    gathering   the   tithe,    and   otherwise 
scraping  together  the  pittance  which  fell  to  their  lot. 
Ecclesiastical  and  State   affairs    largely  engrossed   the 
bishops ;  so  that  they  had  neither  time  nor  opportunity 
for  the  work  which  lay  outside  the  walls  of  their  palaces. 
Doubtless,   in    many,   the  will    was  good   enough,  but 
society   had    heaped    upon    them   tasks   which  seemed 
greater  and  more  important  than  the  cleansing  of  huts 
or  the  lighting  of  lanes.     Kings,  barons,  yeomen  and 
merchants  made  no  pretensions  to  such  work,  nor  did 
woman    dream    of  the   kindly  ministries  which   in   the- 
latter  days  were  in  store  for  her.     The  social  substratum 
was  simply  forgotten,  and  the  twelfth  century  appeared 
to  realize  neither  its  danger  nor  its  duty. 

The  age,  however,  had  a  keen  dread  of  heresy.  Men 
recognized  with  alarm  the  inevitable  tendency  of  errors 
of  doctrine  to  create  errors  of  life.  The  long,  gaunt, 
serpentine  arms  of  evil  thr&atefied  to  paralyze  society 


33^  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

in  their  attempts  to  touch  and  envelop  its  every  part. 
Ft)r  mediaeval  heresy  was  both  religious  and  political ; 
from  denying  Catholic  doctrines  it  proceeded  to  ques- 
tion the  theories  of  the  papacy  and  of  feudalism.  It 
professed  inability  to  understand  many  things  which 
Christendom  generally  both  appreciated  and  enjoyed. 
When  left  unmolested,  it  became  defiant,  casting  aside 
authority,  arousing  the  spirit  of  rebellion  and  challeng- 
ing opposition.  To  protect  itself,  society  was  compelled 
to  use  force ;  yet,  as  weeds  in  a  court-yard  grow  in  spite 
of  knife  and  of  salt,  heresy  grew  and,  flushed  with  suc- 
cess, advanced  to  frightful  extremes.  Thousands  in 
Europe  fell  into  apostasy,  and  of  wide  regions  St.  Ber- 
nard wrote :  "  Churches  without  people,  the  people  with- 
out priests,  priests  without  respect.  Christians  without 
Christ,  holy  places  denied  to  be  holy,  the  sacraments  no 
longer  sacred,  and  holy  days  without  their  solemnities." 
But  the  twelfth  century  seemed  no  more  able  to  grapple 
with  this  question  than  it  was  to  grapple  with  the  state 
of  the  poor.  Indeed,  no  solution  of  the  problems  seemed 
possible  till,  with  commendable  courage,  the  thirteenth 
century  recognized  its  responsibility  and  sought  to  ap- 
ply the  remedies  which  lay  at  its  hand. 

In  the  year  1182,  at  Assisi,  was  born  one  whose  life's 
work  was  destined  to  be  given  to  God's  poor.  His  father 
was  a  trader  and  of  a  kindly  disposition ;  his  mother, 
thoughtful  and  pious.  Francis  grew  up  a  merry-heart- 
ed lad,  bright,  pure  and  true,  fonder  of  play  than  of 
books,  but  giving  rare  promise  of  a  brilliant  career.  He 
had  the  gift  of  a  luxuriant  and  beautiful  imagination. 
A  serious  illness  at  the  age  of  twenty-five  gave  that 
change  to  his  life  which  led  him  to  hold  in  contempt 


THE   CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  337 

that  which  hitherto  he  had  held  in  admiration  and  in 
love.  Instead  of  gayety,  amusement  and  courtliness,  he 
saw  lying  at  the  gate  the  leper,  the  woeful  misery  of  the 
neglected,  the  hungry  and  the  naked,  and  there  came 
upon  him  the  consuming  spirit  of  self-sacrifice.  Could 
nothing  be  done  for  such  as  these  ?  In  gentlest  sym- 
pathy he  went  among  them,  tending  and  kissing  the 
afflicted,  washing  their  wounds  and  helping  them  to 
food  and  raiment.  Now  were  Poverty  his  bride  and  the 
afflicted  his  peculiar  care.  His  father,  greatly  irritated 
at  this  apparent  waste  of  energies,  prospects  and  riches, 
first  abused,  then  imprisoned,  and  finally  repudiated,  him. 
The  young  man  went  out  to  live  the  life  of  those  to  whom 
he  would  minister,  saying,  "  I  have  but  one,  a  Father  in 
heaven,  now,"  Before  long  his  enthusiasm  attracted 
other  earnest  souls  to  him.  He  formed  them  into  a 
society  which,  having  no  property  or  endowment  of  any 
sort,  should  reproduce  the  divine  life  of  service  and  sac- 
rifice. His  charge  was,  "  Sell  all  that  thou  hast,  and  give 
to  the  poor ;  then  thou  shalt  have  treasure  in  heaven." 
Into  the  foul  slums  of  the  city  the  brethren  went,  mak- 
ing their  home  with  the  poorest  of  the  poor,  with  them 
eating  the  same  coarse  food,  suffering  the  same  priva- 
tions and  enduring  the  same  reproach — glad  indeed  that 
they  might  be  as  was  He  who  had  no  place  to  lay  his 
head,  so  that  they  might  bring  the  weary  and  the  heavy 
laden  to  the  Giver  of  rest.  "  Go,"  said  Francis  to  his 
companions — "  go  preach  peace  and  patience ;  tend  the 
wounded;  relieve  the  distressed;  reclaim  the  erring; 
bless  them  which  persecute  you  and  pray  for  them  that 
despitefuUy  use  you."  He  bade  them  call  themselves 
**  little   brethren  " — Minorites — as    being   less   than    all 


338  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

others,  and  the  superintendent  of  each  band  of  workers 
to  be  styled  "  minister,"  the  least  among  them  and  the 
servant  of  all.  Far  and  wide  the  brotherhood  extended  ; 
the  spirit  of  Francis  was  like  a  live  fire  spreading  and 
consuming  everywhere.  France,  Spain,  Germany  and 
England  welcomed  the  laborers.  The  world's  heart  was 
touched  at  the  sight  of  men  who  plunged  into  the  depths 
of  the  abyss  of  want  and  wretchedness.  Among  the  mud 
huts  of  the  poor  arose  the  plain  mud  walls  of  the  friary 
from  which  every  comfort  was  excluded — a  wooden  bowl 
for  the  porridge  and  sour  beer,  the  floor  for  a  bed  and  a 
coarse,  patched  sackcloth  garment  for  dress.  Close  by 
was  the  church,  simple  to  painfulness,  with  no  coloring, 
ornamention  nor  architectural  or  artistic  delights  what- 
ever. From  the  services  the  accessories  of  an  ornate 
worship  were  banished :  incense,  music  and  candles 
were  not  for  people  perishing  both  in  body  and  in  soul. 
The  means  to  be  used  for  the  evangelization  of  the  mul- 
titude were  earnest,  practical  preaching,  kindly  visiting 
from  house  to  house,  the  example  of  holy  living  and 
unquestioning  suffering,  and  avoiding  the  seclusion  of 
the  monk  and  the  dignity  of  the  priest.  Especially  was 
Francis  afraid  of  learning.  He  felt  that  scholars  and 
students  were  not  fitted  for  this  work,  and,  lest  books 
should  corrupt  the  gospel  and  culture  hinder  the  salva- 
tion of  the  poor,  he  sought  to  exclude  both  from  his 
order.  By  the  year  12 19  more  than  five  thousand  breth- 
ren were  sharing  in  the  labors  of  this  remarkable  man. 
His  own  burning  ardor  and  spiritual  industry,  tempered 
with  poetry,  grace  and  tenderness,  never  flagged.  His 
gentle  and  beautiful  soul  was  manifested  in  his  extraor- 
dinary love  of  nature.     He  saw  the  Creator  in  all  his 


THE   CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  339 

creatures;  legend  said  that  his  glad  tidings  were  told 
even  to  the  birds  and  the  flowers.  On  the  fourth  of 
October,  .1226,  having  lived  a  noble  life,  in  which  he 
beheld  many  fruits  of  his  untiring  toil,  he  breathed  his 
last,  and,  according  to  his  wish,  was  buried  in  the  place 
of  criminals  outside  his  own  city.  He  was  canonized 
two  years  later.  Traditions  concerning  him  multiplied 
with  amazing  rapidity ;  the  world  learned  to  love  that 
very  poverty  it  had  once  ignored,  and  to-day  his  mem- 
ory is  fresh  in  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen  and  is  pre- 
served in  the  name  of  the  city  on  the  Californian  shore. 
Heresy  was  dealt  with  after  a  different  manner,  and 
by  one  of  a  different  spirit.  Dominic  was  born  in  Old 
Castile  about  A.  d.  1170.  Of  an  illustrious  and  wealthy 
family,  he  received  a  superior  education  and  attained  an 
honorable  position.  He  was  tender  and  gentle,  consid- 
erate of  inferiors  and  kind  to  the  poor,  but* his  ascetic  and 
religious  zeal  steeled  him  against  his  natural  impulses 
and  led  him  to  acts  of  unrelenting  severity.  Thrice 
nightly  he  flogged  himself  with  an  iron  chain — once  for 
his  own  sins,  once  for  the  sinners  in  this  world  and  once 
for  those  in  purgatory.  Intensely  in  earnest,  enthusiastic, 
indomitable,  he  lost  for  ever  the  virtues  of  patience,  mag- 
nanimity and  moderation,  using  all  the  force  of  his  soul 
in  hating  heretics.  The  depths  of  his  being  were  stirred 
first  to  pity  and  then  to  passion  at  the  sight  of  these  de- 
niers  of  the  faith.  He  saw  that  the  clergy  were  unable 
to  reclaim  them.  To  some  who  reported  their  failure 
he  exclaimed,  *'  How  can  you  expect  success,  with  all 
this  secular  pomp  ?  These  men  cannot  be  touched  by 
words  without  corresponding  deeds.  The  heretics  de- 
ceive them  by  their  simplicity.     You  must  throw  aside 


340  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  Y. 

all  your  splendor  and  go  forth,  as  the  disciples  of  old, 
barefoot,  without  purse  or  scrip,  to  proclaim  the  truth." 
He  acted  upon  his  own  principle,  relinquished  worldly- 
wealth  and  honor,  and  preached  through  the  affected 
provinces  for  ten  years  with  a  success  which  obtained 
him  many  imitators,  but  few  converts.  The  Albigenses 
remained  perverse,  and  under  the  name  of  a  crusade  a 
cruel  and  atrocious  war  was  made  upon  them  by  Count 
Raymond  and  Simon  de  Montfort.  They  were  deci- 
mated, but  neither  the  sword  of  the  persecutor  nor  the 
tongue  of  the  preacher  removed  the  evil.  Then,  in  12 17, 
Dominic  gave  them  up,  saying,  "  For  many  years  I  have 
spoken  to  you  with  tenderness,  with  prayers  and  tears, 
but,  according  to  the  proverb  of  my  country,  where  the 
benediction  has  no  effect  the  rod  may  have  much.  Be- 
hold, now  we  rouse  up  against  you  princes  and  prelates, 
nations  and  kmgdoms,  and  many  shall  perish  by  the 
sword."  The  remainder  of  his  life  he  spent  in  organiz- 
ing his  followers  into  a  brotherhood  of  preachers  who, 
like  the  Franciscans,  should  live  in  poverty,  but,  unlike 
the  Franciscans,  should  engage  in  the  intellectual  work 
of  the  Church.  His  order  spread  and  became  famous 
for  its  scholarship  and  its  unscrupulous  zeal.  By  its 
great  preachers  much  heresy  was  uprooted ;  it  also 
furnished  the  most  numerous  and  most  merciless  of- 
ficials of  the  Inquisition.  Dominic  died  in  122 1,  a  man 
of  startling  ability,  eloquent,  forceful,  mighty  in  organ- 
ization and  strong  in  inspiring  confidence — a  prince, 
but  too  dark,  harsh  and  cruel  to  be  loved  or  to  be  called 
a  saint. 

And  what  does  the  world  owe  to  Francis  and  what 
to   Dominic  ?     Neither  succeeded :   the  poor  remained 


THE   CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  34 1 

and  heresy  flourished ;  but  the  one  taught  the  lesson  of 
sympathy  and  mercy  and  the  other  proved  the  failure 
of  force. 

Feudalism  was  now  in  its  decline,  but  chivalry  had 
reached  its  meridian  glory.  That  these  systems  were 
the  perfection  of  evil,  that  barons  and  knights  did  naught 
but  oppress  their  dependants  and  spend  their  time  in 
deeds  of  violence  and  that  society  groaned  with  misery 
under  their  sway  is  a  view  which  needs  facts  for  its  sup- 
port. Like  everything  human,  they  had  their  abuses, 
their  disgraces  and  their  extravagances,  but  of  both 
feudalism  and  chivalry  the  essential  idea  was  the  con- 
servation of  rights.  Under  the  former  for  obedience 
was  given  protection.  The  vassal  placed  his  hand  be- 
tween hands  that  should  help  him  in  the  hour  of  need, 
nor  did  he  consider  himself  less  a  man  because  he  be- 
came the  man  of  an  earl  or  a  prince.  The  relation  was 
both  religious  and  popular  :  it  was  sanctioned  and  sanc- 
tified by  the  Church  and  approved  and  accepted  by  the 
people.  When  its  purpose  was  served,  it  passed  away. 
With  less  scruple  than  in  earlier  days  men  broke  its 
obligations,  but  as  yet,  upon  the  strength  of  feudal  vows, 
Frederick  and  Innocent  reigned  in  splendor  and  the 
English  baronage  forced  from  John  the  Magna  Carta. 
Then  came  in  chivalry  to  carry  on  the  same  work — a 
curious  development  made  picturesque  by  poetry  and 
romance,  and  destined,  with  all  its  grotesque  interming- 
ling of  consecrated  force,  extravagant  vows,  charitable 
selfishness  and  virtuous  wrong-doing,  to  play  an  import- 
ant part  in  the  human  drama.  It  had  its  ranks  and  its 
orders — its  pages,  esquires  and  knights,  its  Hospitallers, 
Teutons  and  Templars — and  so  popular  did  it  become 


342  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

that  every  youth  of  gentle  birth  and  not  of  clerkly  tastes 
looked  forward  to  the  day  when  he  would  lay  his  hand 
upon  the  altar  and  swear  to  defend  the  weak,  to  fight  for 
the  truth  and  to  bar  his.  heart  against  all  cowardice  and 
disloyalty.  He  practised  obedience  and  feats  of  arms ; 
he  sought  by  some  wondrous  deed  to  win  his  spurs 
and  gather  wide  renown.  Wherever  fighting  was  to  be 
done — if  it  were  with  foes  of  the  same  knightly  rank, 
and  not  with  churls  and  peasants — there  was  the  flower 
of  chivalry.  If  need  be,  the  warrior  could  drop  from  his 
exalted  pretensions  and  slaughter  outright.  With  equal 
enthusiasm  he  could  lay  lance  in  rest  to  recover  the  holy 
sepulchre,  to  suppress  heretics,  to  maintain  the  rights  of 
his  country,  to  defend  his  own  order  and  to  win  the 
smiles  of  a  maiden.  In  all  this  he  was  the  darhng  of  his 
age.  Bards  sang  his  praises,  priests  blessed  his  arms, 
orators  proclaimed  his  triumphs,  and  the  plebeian  mob 
with  exultation  gazed  upon  his  pomp  and  shouted  at  his 
lofty  boasts.  In  the  tournament  he  was  rewarded  with 
the  plaudits  of  women  and  with  the  sonorous  and  gran- 
diloquent verbiage  of  heralds.  Nor  in  the  annals  of  chiv- 
alry are  there  nobler  names  than  those  of  Edward  of 
Eng-land,  St.  Louis  of  France,  Sancho  the  Brave  of  Cas- 
tile,  Walter  of  Brienne,  Simon  de  Montfort,  Rudolph  of 
Hapsburg,  Bruce  of  Scotland,  and  the  greatest  and  fore- 
most of  them  all  and  of  the  long  list  from  which  they 
are  taken,  the  wonder  of  the  age  and  the  marvel  of  the 
world,  the  emperor  Frederick  II.  Never  again  was 
chivalry  what  it  was  in  the  thirteenth  century ;  never 
again  had  it  so  many  puissant  knights  and  dauntless 
heroes.  When  the  mercenary  soldier  came  in,  the 
knightly  soldier  went  out,  even  as  the  bow  disappeared 


THE   CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  343 

before   the   musket   and   the   battering-ram   before  the 
cannon. 

And,  though  sometimes  the  knight  laid  by  his  armor 
and  indulged  in  the  more  peaceful  pursuits  of  building, 
farming,  stock-raising  and  merrymaking,  there  was  in 
this  century  work  enough  for  the  men  of  battle.  Each 
nation  had  its  own  wars  and  struggles.  The  Spanish 
kingdoms  were  battling  in  the  valleys  and  the  plains  of 
their  peninsula  with  the  Saracen ;  France  was  aiming  at 
the  subjugation  of  Burgundy,  Aquitaine,  Toulouse  and 
Flanders ;  England  had  its  strife  with  Scotland  and  its 
quarrel  between  king  and  barons ;  Italy  abounded  in 
revolutions  and  plots ;  Germany  had  its  rebels ;  the 
East  and  the  West  fought  over  Constantinople ;  Sicily 
strove  for  independence ;  and  everywhere  there  was  an 
unrest,  a  prolonged  and  violent  effort,  the  strugglings 
of  a  continent  out  of  chaos  into  order.  Nor  was  the 
laudable  and  time-honored  duty  of  rescuing  Jerusalem 
from  the  infidel  forgotten.  Four  times  was  the  attempt 
made,  and  with  reluctance  did  men  finally  relinquish  an 
enterprise  which  had  been  not  only  a  means  of  grace 
and  a  benefit  to  salvation,  but  also  a  help  to  fill  up  the 
spare  time  of  Christendom  and  brighten  the  dreams  of 
priests  and  of  warriors.  For  the  pure,  simple,  honest 
faith  of  the  early  crusaders  had  given  place  to  the  selfish 
desire  for  territorial,  churchly  and  chivalric  aggrandize- 
ment. Innocent  III.  thought  first  of  the  promotion  of 
the  papal  power;  Frederick  II.,  of  the  lands  of  lolante; 
only  Louis  of  France  remained  sincere,  testifying  his 
heart's  faith  as  on  the  coast  of  Tunis  he  lay  dying :  "  I 
will  go  up  to  thy  house,  O  Lord  ;  I  will  worship  in  thy 
sanctuary." 


344  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

The  sincerity  of  Louis  was  akin  to  that  of  the  chil- 
dren who  in  one  instance  to  the  number  of  thirty- 
thousand,  and  in  another  to  the  number  of  twenty 
thousand,  set  out  for  the  Holy  Land  to  fight  the  un- 
believer. Their  beautiful  devotion  and  their  sad  sacri- 
fice, giving  to  their  story  an  unfading  charm,  show  the 
extent  of  the  chivalrous  spirit.  Even  the  boys  and  the 
girls  of  this  century  were  moved  by  the  same  genius 
which  touched  their  fathers'  souls.  More  romantic 
than  the  German  effort  was  that  in  France.  About  the 
year  1213  a  shepherd-boy — one  Stephen — believing  him- 
self to  have  seen  the  Saviour  in  a  vision,  began  in  his 
native  village,  near  Vendome,  to  gather  around  him 
some  children  and  to  urge  them  to  take  the  cross.  He 
succeeded  but  too  well.  Setting  out  with  a  small  com- 
pany, on  the  way  to  the  sea  he  obtained  followers  from 
every  town  and  village  through  which  he  passed.  Use- 
less was  it  for  parents  to  endeavor  to  restrain  their 
children  from  joining  the  band.  The  enthusiasm  be- 
came intense ;  even  the  king  of  France  was  unable  to 
check  it.  Nor  were  adults  unaffected ;  they  beheld  the 
zeal  and  heard  the  plaintive  chanting  of  the  procession 
of  innocents.  They  encouraged  them  and  supplied 
their  wants,  for  who  could  tell  the  great  things  God 
might  accomplish  by  them  ?  When  the  young  cru- 
saders reached  Marseilles,  some  shipmasters  undertook 
to  convey  them  gratuitously  to  Egypt  or  Syria ;  five  thou- 
sand embarked,  but  many  were  wrecked  on  a  rock  of  the 
Mediterranean,  and  others  on  reaching  the  African  coast 
Avere  sold  into  slavery.  A  few  saw  the  shores  of  Pales- 
tine, but  it  was  on  their  way  as  captives  to  Mid-Asia. 
They  who  did  not  sail  returned  to  their  homes  in  peace. 


THE   CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  345 

With   them   and   St.    Louis   the    real    crusading   spirit 
passed  away. 

The  strife  of  force  in  those  days  was  heartless  and 
cruel,  but  the  knights  and  the  -warriors  regarded  them- 
selves as  gentle,  kind  and  courteous.  They  probably 
thought  they  did  their  duty  in  a  loving  and  merciful 
manner — very  much  as,  in  the  time  of  Louis  XL,  Pe- 
tit Andre  did  his ;  certainly,  in  their  disregard  of  pain 
they  were  willing  to  receive  the  same  that  they  meted 
out  to  others.  As  to  the  enemies  of  God  and  the  foes 
of  the  cross,  was  it  not  good  they  should  suffer  ?  There- 
fore the  knight  pulled  out  the  teeth  of  a  Jew  that  he  might 
save  his  soul,  and  broke  the  bones  of  a  heretic  that  he 
might  make  whole  and  sound  his  faith.  In  1234,  when 
a  great  lady  of  Toulouse  on  her  death-bed  was  discov- 
ered to  have  erroneous  tendencies,  she  was  summarily 
condemned,  handed  over  to  the  secular  power,  carried 
on  her  bed  to  the  stake,  and  there,  as  the  chronicler 
says,  "  burnt  merrily ;"  but  this  was  done  that  she  might 
the  surer  go  to  heaven.  The  thought  was  of  kindness 
rather  than  of  cruelty — the  spirit  of  the  surgeon  who 
cuts  off  a  leg  to  save  a  body.  The  times  were  rude — 
utterly  beyond  our  appreciation,  for  the  world  has  be- 
come sensitive.  The  Albigenses  who  were  slain  without 
mercy  by  the  men  of  Simon  de  Montfort,  had  victoiy 
been  theirs,  would  have  slain  their  enemies  without 
mercy.  The  Apostolicals  were  certainly  as  cruel  and 
vindictive  as  their  orthodox  opponents.  Nor  did  Eu- 
rope shudder  when  at  the  vesper-hour  on  the  Easter 
Tuesday  of  1282  the  people  of  Sicily,  stung  by  years 
of  oppression,  rose  up  and  slaughtered  in  cold  blood 
every   French   man,  women  and   child   in   the   island. 


34^  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Nor,  again,  did  Europe  shudder  when,  earlier  than  this, 
Latin  soldiers  waded  through  pools  of  gore  in  the  streets 
of  Constantinople  and  murdered  every  Greek  they  met ; 
much  less  did  Europe  blush  at  the  desecration  done  in 
the  church  of  St.  Sophia,  when  upon  the  patriarchal 
throne  those  same  soldiers  seated  a  prostitute  and  around 
her  sang  their  ribald  songs.  Even  the  Inquisition,  hor- 
rible and  infamous,  reflected  the  popular  feeling  of  South- 
ern Europe;  they  of  the  northern  lands,  rougher  in 
manner,  but  gentler  in  soul,  stopped  at  this.  Only,  the 
nineteenth  century  had  some  crimson  as  well  as  black 
streaks  in  its  splendor. 

The  papacy  displays  a  wondrous  mingling  of  light  and 
of  shade,  of  strong  colors  and  of  deep  gloom.  Among, 
the  eighteen  popes  who  during  this  century  sat  in  the 
throne  of  St.  Peter,  the  contrasts  of  good  and  evil,  of 
ability  and  mediocrity,  of  age  and  youth,  were  startling. 
Some  were  pure,  amiable  and  devout ;  others  were  proud, 
rapacious,  despotic  and  cruel.  Innocent  III.  had  the  ge- 
nius of  a  poet,  a  master  and  a  statesman ;  Dante  puts 
the  hermit-pope  Celestine  V.  within  the  portals  of  the 
Inferno  and  Nicholas  III.  down  in  the  pit  of  the  simo- 
niacs  ;  and,  while  Gregory  X.  with  commendable  energy 
sought  to  unite  Europe  in  a  lasting  peace,  Boniface  VIII. 
united  under  a  strong  will  the  perfection  of  craft,  ava- 
rice and  ambition.  Not  less  surprising  are  the  heights 
of  grandeur  or  the  depths  of  servility  to  which  they 
rose  or  fell.  At  one  moment  the  world  fears  the  pope ; 
at  another,  the  pope  fears  the  world.  There  were  pro- 
longed vacancies  and  short  reigns  :  four  popes— of  whom 
two  died  without  consecration — wore  the  tiara  but  a  few 
months,  and  eight  only  from  one  year  to  four  or  five 


THE   CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  347 

years  each.  But  under  the  rule  of  the  mightiest  were 
supported  the  loftiest  pretensions  of  pontifical  authority 
and  splendor.  The  marked  ability,  unswerving  purpose 
and  keen  insight  which  marked  men  such  as  Innocent 
III.,  Honorius  III.,  Gregory  IX.,  Innocent  IV.  and  Boni- 
face VIII.  brought  the  papacy  to  a  height  unknown 
before  or  since.  They  believed,  and  taught  Western 
Christendom  to  believe,  that  the  successors  of  the  Galil- 
ean fisherman  inherited  his  powers  and  his  supremacy. 
To  them,  said  Innocent  III.,  is  committed  the  govern- 
ment not  only  of  the  Church,  but  also  of  the  whole  world. 
As  the  moon  receives  no  glory  save  from  the  sun,  neither 
do  princes  except  from  the  pontiff;  and  as  the  body  is  sub- 
ject to  the  soul,  so  must  the  secular  be  to  the  spiritual. 
The  pope  therefore  claimed  the  right  to  appoint,  depose 
and  rule  kings,  to  decree  the  bounds  and  rights  of  nations, 
and  to  settle  disputes  between  monarchs  and  their  peo- 
ple. He  alone  held  the  keys  of  heaven,  and  he  alone 
could  bind  or -loose  the  souls  of  men.  His  decrees  were 
sealed  by  God  and  his  decisions  were  infallible.  So  he 
laid  interdicts  upon  nations,  deprived  offenders  of  the 
means  of  grace  and  the  comforts  of  religion,  closed 
churches,  consigned  his  enemies  to  perdition  and  barred 
heaven  against  the  world.  Nor  were  these  claims  seri- 
ously or  successfully  denied.  Philip  Augustus  humbly 
sought  that  the  interdict  laid  upon  his  realm  might  be 
removed ;  John  of  England  consented  to  hold  his  king- 
dom as  a  fief  of  Rome ;  and  from  the  day  when  Inno- 
cent III.  proclaimed  himself  to  be  the  vicar  of  Christ  to 
the  day  when  Boniface  VIII.  died  as  a  dog  Europe  felt 
that  the  only  chance  of  deliverance  from  the  oppressions 
or  the  dissensions  of  princes  and  of  prelates  was  in  ac- 


34S  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

cepting  the  authority  of  the  pope  both  as  the  bishop  of 
bishops  and  as  the  overlord  of  kings. 

Much  besides  a  misinterpretation  of  Scripture  helped 
to  this  end.  A  dried  and  withered  mummy  is  an  object 
of  curiosity,  but  once  it  was  a  living  man — perhaps  a 
powerful  and  virtuous  prince.  There  were  times  when 
the  life  of  Europe  depended  upon  the  skill  and  the 
fortitude  of  the  bishop  of  Rome.  In  ages  when  the 
modern  nations  were  slowly  attaining  perfection  and 
permanence,  and  when  political  economy  was  uncer- 
tain, the  pope  alone  had  a  definite  theory  and  a  gen- 
erally-accepted position.  To  him  princes  and  peoples 
could  appeal,  and  by  him  was  made  the  nearest  approach 
to  justice  that  was  then  possible.  He  reigned  by  moral 
rather  than  by  physical  force.  His  throne  was  elective, 
and  under  certain  conditions,  few  and  simple,  open  to 
any  Christian  in  the  world.  Nor  did  he  neglect  the 
people :  as  a  rule,  the  popes  took  the  side  of  democ- 
racy rather  than  that  of  the  kings  and  the  nobles.  Their 
exalted  position  involved  a  splendor  of  surrounding 
unequalled  in  any  other  court  of  Christendom.  The 
emperor  held  the  stirrups  when  the  pope  mounted  his 
horse ;  kings  waited  upon  him  at  table ;  nobles  knelt  at 
his  footstool.  His  palaces  had  all  the  glory  that  art  and 
wealth  could  give.  Wide  lands  yielded  him  an  enor- 
mous revenue ;  from  every  part  of  his  jurisdiction  riches 
came  pouring  in  as  streams  pour  into  the  sea.  He  asked, 
and  it  was  given;  he  commanded,  and  obedience  was 
rendered.  Around  him  clustered  the  scholarship  of 
the  age;  civilization  looked  to  him  for  guidance  and 
commerce  sought  of  him  protection.  And  thus  on  the 
banks  of  the  Tiber  was  a  blaze  of  pomp,  majesty  and 


THE   CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  349 

power  exceeding  that  of  Pharaohs  or  of  Caesars,  and 
like  unto  the  sun  in  its  meridian. 

This  splendor  was  reflected  in  the  state  and  dignity 
of  the  ecclesiastical  princes.  Bishops  and  abbots  had  a 
grandeur  that  kings  envied  and  barons  failed  to  excel. 
Lands  and  houses  fell  to  their  portion ;  they  took  pre- 
cedence of  lay-lords,  and  retainers  filled  their  mansions. 
And  though  luxury  and  power  are  deleterious,  yet,  on 
the  whole,  the  prelates  ruled  justly  and  lived  purely. 
Even  in  the  worst  ages  the  clergy  have  always  been 
somewhat  better  than  the  class  from  which  they  are 
taken. 

In  this  glory  there  was  a  wide  departure  from  the 
simplicity  of  the  apostles  and  the  asceticism  of  the  prim- 
itive bishops.  The  pomp  of  life  and  the  magnificence 
of  service  reflected  little  of  the  work  of  men  who  in 
much  tribulation  sought  to  uphold  the  faith.  But  times 
had  changed :  the  Church  in  persecution  could  not  be 
the  same  as  the  Church  in  prosperity.  Prelates  who 
rule  a  remnant  lurking  in  caves  and  catacombs  can 
scarcely  have  the  splendor  of  prelates  who  rule  obedient 
multitudes  and  live  in  sumptuous  palaces,  nor  will  an 
altar  in  a  desert  be  like  an  altar  reared  beneath  the 
vaulted  roof  of  a  great  cathedral.  It  was  not  the 
Church's  fault  that  God  had  blessed  her  with  abun- 
dance :  he  had  given  her  glory,  and  she  could  not  but 
be  glorious.  The  magnificence  which  rested  upon 
her  clergy,  buildings,  services,  life  and  theories  was 
not  peculiar :  it  was  naught  but  her  share  in  the  magnifi- 
cence of  a  magnificent  age.  She  was  swept  along  by  the 
thought  and  the  life  of  a  century  romantic,  extravagant, 
visionary  and  luxurious,  but  even  then,  as  now,  she  was 


3 so  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

unmindful  neither  of  her  duty  to  lift  up  the  fallen  nor  of 
her  work  to  bring  in  righteousness  among  men.  "  I 
am,"  said  Innocent  III.,  "  in  such  a  degree  made  over  to 
others  that  I  almost  seem  to  be  altogether  taken  away 
from  myself;"  and  the  times  had  many  such  who  real- 
ized the  splendor  of  self-sacrifice. 

Three  great  councils  were  held,  and  at  that  of  the  Lat- 
eran,  1215,  transubstantiation  was  formally  decreed  to 
be  a  doctrine  of  the  Church.  The  adoration  of  the  host 
became  general,  and  in  consequence  of  a  vision  vouch- 
safed to  a  nun  of  Liege  the  festival  of  Corpus  Christi  was 
instituted.  The  sister  saw  a  full  moon  with  a  small  part 
of  it  in  darkness,  and  this  was  interpreted  to  mean  that 
the  glory  of  the  Church  needed  for  its  perfection  a  day 
wherein  special  honor  should  be  given  to  the  Lord's 
body.  Soon  the  opus  operatum  was  propounded.  De- 
cretals were  invented  and  the  Scriptures  were  forbidden 
the  laity ;  the  formulum  "  Accipe  Spiritus  Sanctus  "  was 
introduced  into  the  ordination  of  priests ;  mariolatry  re- 
ceived a  renewed  impulse ;  indulgences  were  defined 
and  purgatory  was  extended ;  and  the  most  rapid 
strides -which  any  of  the  centuries  witnessed  were  made 
toward  that  system  which  had  its  culmination  in  the 
Council  of  Trent.  The  daring  of  the  age  is  shown  in 
the  invention  and  propagation  of  strange  and  startling 
doctrines.  There  is  an  audacity  unique  and  bewilder- 
ing. Imagination,  contradiction  and  assumption,  intense 
earnestness  and  flippant  frivolity,  keen  logic  and  foolish 
faith,  sparkling  wit,  mercurial  adaptability  and  impen- 
etrable stupidness,  stand  boldly  side  by  side.  The  men 
thought  like  giants  and  played  like  boys.  They  wrote 
hymns  full  of  reflection  and  beauty  and  kept  burlesque 


THE    CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  35 1 

festivals  and  acted  coarse  mysteries.  They  exalted 
prelates  and  made  parodies  of  them  and  their  offices. 
And  all  in  good  faith  :  the  thirteenth  century  was  bold 
enough  to  think  for  itself  and  brave  enough  to  say  what 
it  thought. 

Now  literature  begins  to  break  from  its  ecclesiastical 
environments,  and  to  seek  other  than  religious  subjects 
and  conventional  forms.  The  transition  is  of  singular 
brilliance.  Into  its  dying  supremacy  the  old  school 
casts  its  greatest  powers ;  the  new  school  shows  in  its 
young  life  promises  of  transcendent  glory.  Few  divines 
are  there  to  place  beside  Thomas  Aquinas,  while  be- 
tween Homer  and  Shakespeare  no  poet  is  to  be  named 
with  Dante.  These  two  masters — geniuses  of  the  high- 
est order,  representatives  of  their  age  and  moulders  of 
thought  for  all  time — are  the  princes  of  their  respective 
schools,  the  one  of  the  late  traditional  and  the  other  of 
the  early  renascence. 

The  theological  renown  of  Aquinas  is  enhanced  by 
his  busy  public  life  and  his  comparative  youth.  Though 
only  forty-seven  years  when  he  died,  he  had  taken  a 
leading  part  in  many  of  the  great  religious  movements 
of  the  day.  His  ability  as  a  preacher,  a  scholar  and  an 
ecclesiastical  statesman,  together  with  his  earnest  and 
devout  life,  made  him  a  favorite  not  only  with  the  pope 
and  the  Dominican  order,  to  which  he  belonged,  but 
also  with  the  general  public.  The  highest  authorities 
in  the  Church  both  made  use  of  his  great  powers  and 
offered  him  remunerative  and  influential  preferment.  In 
the  midst  of  most  exacting  labors,  and  with  a  constitu- 
tion seriously  weakened  by  long  journeys,  unceasing 
anxieties  and   harassing    responsibilities,   he   wrote  his 


352  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Summa  Theologies — a  work  upon  which  his  fame  mainly 
rests,  and  which  is  not  unworthy  the  magnificence  of 
the  period.  This  magnum  opus  he  aimed  to  make  oc- 
cupy that  position  over  the  minds  of  men  which  the 
Church  held  toward  their  souls.  It  should  contain  all 
knowledge  concisely  and  authoritatively  formulated.  A 
conception  so  great  was  necessarily  left  unrealized,  but 
unflinching  and  accurate  logic,  vast  erudition,  clear  per- 
ception and  forcible  statements  have  left  that  part  of  the 
work  which  was  written  without  a  rival  in  the  realm  of 
philosophy  or  of  theology.  No  other  man  ever  ven- 
tured upon  so  daring  a  task ;  no  other  man  would  have 
thought  such  a  task  possible.  Thomas  Aquinas  ranks 
among  the  doctors  and  the  fathers  of  the  Church ;  he  is 
the  glory  of  the  schoolmen  and  is  set  in  the  midst  of  the 
saints.  He  is  also  one  of  the  princes  of  a  princely  age. 
Had  there  been  no  Angelic  Doctor  to  outshine  them, 
the  times  would  have  been  made  glorious  by  such 
Franciscans  as  Duns  Scotus,  Bonaventura,  Roger  Bacon 
and  Alexander  of  Hales,  and  by  the  famous,  learned 
and  eloquent  opponent  of  the  mendicant  orders,  Wil- 
liam of  St.  Armour.  Others  follow  fast  after  them. 
Nor  may  the  Dies  Irce  be  forgotten.  Its  sublime  theme, 
sonorous  language  and  awful  grandeur,  reflecting  the 
deep  thoughtfulness  and  reverent  fear  of  the  age,  make 
it  one  of  the  most  celebrated  hymns  of  Christendom. 
The  laurel  of  a  master  is  given  to  its  author,  Thomas 
of  Celano,  Only  a  mind  stirred  by  genius  and  im- 
pressed with  the  nearness  and  stupendous  consequences 
of  the  End  could  have  created  it ;  only  they  can  appre- 
ciate it  who  have  a  like  consciousness  of  the  things 
unseen. 


THE   CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  353 

More,  however,  than  the  theologians  and  statesmen, 
the  popes,  princes  and  poets,  of  the  thirteenth  century, 
is  that  Hght  of  all  time  and  first-fruits  of  the  new  life, 
the  man  of  Florence,  Dante  Alighieri.  As  representing 
in  perfect  balance  the  imaginative,  moral  and  intellectual 
faculties  he  has  been  called  the  central  man  of  all  the 
world.  The  only  peer  of  Homer  and  of  Shakespeare, 
he  stands  with  them  far^  above  the  greatest  of  all  other 
poets,  ancient  or  modern.  Indeed,  he  is  in  his  sphere 
mightier  than  were  in  their  spheres  the  mightiest  of  his 
contemporaries.  Creative,  original  and  daring,  yet  he 
neither  on  the  one  hand  sets  himself  in  antagonism  to 
the  religious  spirit,  the  theological  dogmas  or  the  social 
life  of  his  age,  nor  on  the  other  hand  avoids  gathering 
fruits  and  flowers  from  the  gardens  tended  by  the 
"  songsmiths  "  of  past  generations.  His  genius  is  made 
to  express  the  thoughts  and  the  emotions  of  the  times 
— their  uniqueness,  magnitude,  power  and  magnificence. 
With  glowing  imagery,  masterly  command  of  metaphor 
and  the  highest  development  of  descriptive  power  he 
unfolds  and  brings  out  into  bold  relief  the  doctrines  of 
the  Church,  and  especially  her  teaching  of  the  future 
state.  He  becomes  terribly  vivid  and  engrossingly 
realistic.  His  imagination  not  only  compels  the  obei- 
sance of  the  fancy  and  of  the  intellect,  but  in  its  lofty 
aquiline  sweep,  its  ocean-like  comprehension  and  its 
clear  delineation  also  bewilders  and  overpowers.  No 
other  poet  obtains  so  completely  lordship  over  his 
disciples,  not  merely  bringing  them  face  to  face  with 
sublime  and  awful  themes,  but  leading  them  captive- 
like into  the  very  heart  of  the  most  tremendous  thoughts 
that  can  be  conceived.     At  times  the  reader  wanders  on 

23 


354  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

as  in  a  country  of  rare  delights,  exquisite  figures^  ex- 
panding, bursting  passions  and  tender  melodies  exerting 
a  subtile  charm  over  the  soul,  even  as  the  soft  June 
sunlight  streaming  through  the  fresh  foliage  kisses  and 
plays  with  the  woodland  waters  or  with  the  violets  in 
the  bank;  then  come  moments  when  over  the  sky 
gather  the  clouds,  dense,  black,  thunder-charged,  and 
through  the  gloom  and  the  terror  the  soul  passes 
trembling  every  step  of  the  way.  The  Inferno  is  def- 
inite as  an  ordnance  map.  There  is  no  confusion : 
every  lake,  river,  wood  and  mountain  is  defined  and 
described  with  precision  so  exact  that  imagination 
appears  to  be  reality.  In  this  Dante  is  akin  to  the 
earlier  depicters  of  the  nether-realm,  who  write  as 
though  their  feet  had  actually  stood  beside  the  abysmal 
valley  where  the  lamentations  make  the  air  tremble,  and 
as  though  their  eyes  had  seen  the  herds  of  naked  souls 
upon  the  arid,  plantless  plain.  One  after  another,  like  a 
long  line  of  cranes,  the  spirits  of  the  lost  pass  through 
the  gloom  to  the  gulf  of  restless  suffering ;  again,  they 
fall  into  the  turbid  lake  as  leaves  drift  in  the  autumn 
wind.  Here  an  alpine  bank  encloses  a  moat  of  blood 
where  lie  pillagers  and  tyrants  watched  by  centaurs 
who  shoot  with  shafts  whatever  soul  emerges  from  the 
gore;  yonder  are  the  fires  within  which  each  spirit 
swathes  himself  with  a  robe  of  burning  flame.  Anon 
appear  the  pit  of  boiling  pitch,  the  cavern  of  dolorous 
tortures,  the  realm  of  endless  ice  and  the  putrescent 
lake  in  which  are  gathered  grim  diseases.  All  this, 
and  more,  the  man  beholds.  No  wonder  when  the  dusk 
champaign  trembled  violently  and  the  land  of  tears 
fulminated   its  vermilion  light   even   to   him  came  the 


THE   CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  355 

fear-elf.  Every  demon,  soul  and  beast  is  drawn  with 
the  same  clear  pencil.  Unlike  Milton,  whose  indistinct- 
ness blurs  his  best  work,  and  whose  power  fails  to  excite 
more  than  pity  for  his  Satan,  Dante  presents  a  most 
perfect  portraiture  of  fiendish  nature.  His  words  like 
drops  of  fire  burn  into  the  mind,  the  pain  they  create 
to  be  assuaged  by  the  sweet  and  lovely  pictures  of  the 
Paradiso,  but  the  marks  to  remain  for  ever.  No  one 
can  forget  the  scenes  spread  by  this  awful  master. 

Dante  had,  indeed,  precursors.  Assyrian  literature 
describes  the  visit  of  Ishtar  through  the  seven  gates  to 
the  "  house  in  which  the  dwellers  long  for  light " — the 
subterranean  abode  of  gods,  ghosts  and  demons.  Not 
unlike  this  conception  of  the  under-world  is  the  Homeric 
idea,  while  with  the  same  realism  Virgil  guides  ^neas 
amidst  the  shades.  The  Edda  speaks  much  of  the  un- 
pitying,  voracious,  black-hued  Hela,  who  rules  the  death- 
realm.  There  the  atmosphere  is  pale  and  dim — a  ghastly 
twilight  in  which  like  bats  flit  the  souls  of  the  lost ;  at 
times  the  gloom  deepens  into  pitchy  darkness  intermit- 
tently illumined  with  the  glow  and  flash  of  hidden  fires. 
Nor  was  the  Christian  imagination  less  fertile.  Bede 
narrates  the  experiences  of  several  earthly  visitors  to 
Hades,  and  speaks  of  the  valley  there  one  side  of  which 
was  covered  with  burning  flames  exceeding  terrible  and 
the  other  side  swept  with  raging  hail  and  the  cold  of 
snows.  Each  steep  was  full  of  the  souls  of  men,  which 
incessantly  and  violently  were  cast  hither  and  thither 
across  the  chasm  by  the  force  of  a  tempest.  In  the 
smoke  were  spirits  uttering  terrible  shrieks  and  gleam- 
ing like  sparks  blown  in  the  wind.  William  of  Malmes-  • 
bury  gives  the  story  of  Charlemagne's  walk  on  the  banks 


356  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

of  the  boiling  river  and  amid  the  furnaces  of  pitch  and 
brimstone.  In  Roger  of  Wendover,  under  the  year 
1206,  is  an  extended  account  of  an  Essexman  who  was 
taken  to  the  three  places  of  the  departed.  At  the  out- 
set a  foul  and  agonizing  stench  from  the  bottomless  pit 
affected  poor  Turchill,  whereupon  his  guide  told  him 
that  it  was  evident  he  had  not  been  honest  in  tithing  his 
crop.  In  purgatory  was  a  lake  incomparably  cold  and 
salt  through  which  every  soul  had  to  pass ;  should  the 
water  become  unbearable,  the  soul  might  use  the  bridge 
which  lay  over  the  lake,  only  the  bridge  was  thick  with 
thorns  and  stakes.  Later  the  visitor  was  shown  the  joy 
of  the  demons  in  torturing  sinners  who  came  into  their 
power,  and  he  saw  the  caldrons  in  which,  he  says,  "  the 
spirits  were  heaped  together  boiling  fiercely,  and  their 
heads,  like  those  of  black  fishes,  were,  from  the  violence 
of  the  boiling,  at  one  time  forced  upward  out  of  the  liquid, 
and  at  another  time  fell  downward."  When  Turchill  re- 
turned to  life  and  told  his  vision,  he  moved  many  of  his 
hearers  to  tears  and  bitter  lamentations.  In  the  same 
author  a  condemned  ghost  is  made  to  say  to  a  living 
friend,  "  Stretch  forth  your  hand  and  receive  only  one 
drop  of  my  bloody  sweat."  Roger  adds,  '*  The  live 
man  received  it,  and  it  perforated  his  skin  and  flesh  as 
if  with  a  heated  iron,  making  a  hole  as  large  as  a  nut." 

The  pictures  of  heaven  are  happier,  though,  strange- 
ly enough,  seldom  as  impressive  or  as  graphic.  Even 
Dante  does  not  enthrall  in  the  Paradiso  as  in  the  Inferno. 
The  scene  beyond  the  stars  has  the  overspreading  of 
soft,  undefined  haze,  an  imperceptible  blending  of  gen- 
tle colors  and  a  suggestion  of  flowers,  music  and  rest— 
a  spirit  which  upon  the  soul  dreamily  steals  and  lulls  it 


THE  CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  357 

into  rich  and  indolent  felicity.  If  amid  the  wealth  of 
exquisite  delights  there  comes  another  joy,  it,  like  the 
ruddy  maiden  in  the  light-glow,  is  scarcely  seen  and  for 
appreciation  needs  decided  effort.  Interest  is  aroused 
and  attention  kept  alert  by  the  mingled  flame  and  smoke, 
the  tumult  of  storm,  the  crack  and  burst  of  earthquakes, 
the  weirdness  of  a  meteor-flashing  sky,  and  the  toppling, 
bending,  roaring  avalanche  of  black  ocean-mounds.  This 
tension  neither  holds  nor  wearies  beyond  the  forest  which 
borders  the  heavenward  edge  of  the  Purgatoiio.  The 
mind  has  peace,  the  terror  has  passed  away  :  Dante  is 
beyond  the  steep  and  narrow  ways  and  beholds  the  flow- 
erets and  verdure  of  the  sunlit  land.  In  the  lower  realm 
he  had  for  a  guide  the  masculine  and  vigorous  Virgil ; 
now  he  is  led  by  the  Beatrice  of  his  early  love,  the  maid- 
en beautiful,  saintly,  gentle  and  influenced  more  by  emo- 
tion than  by  thought.  Woman  never  becomes  sublime  ; 
she  is  the  snow-white  rose  of  God's  garden,  fragrant 
and  lovely,  and  not  the  rugged  mountain  crowned 
with  clouds  and  bleached  with  storms.  Her  soul, 
pure  as  the  touch  of  God  and  delicate  as  the  tinted 
pearl,  can  receive  grace 

"  even  as  water  doth  receive 
A  ray  of  light,  remaining  still  unbroken," 

With  such  a  one  the  poet  wanders  through  the  blissful 
realms.     He  met  her  as  day  began — 

"  The  eastern  hemisphere  all  tinged  with  rose, 
And  the  other  heaven  with  fair  serene  adorned  " — • 

and  the  strength  of  the  old  love  came  back.  With  joy 
she  cries, 

"  Look  at  me  well ;  in  sooth  I'm  Beatrice !" 


358  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Together  they  pass  into  the  endless  progression  of  glory ; 
the  clouds  of  radiance  enwrap  them,  and  the  passionate 
affection  purifies  even  as  it  burns.  Dante  marvels  at  the 
visions,  but  the  light  comes  only  from  the  spirit  by  his 
side  till  he  beholds  the  Lord  of  angels ;  then 

"  all  my  love  was  so  absorbed  in  him 
That  in  oblivion  Beatrice  was  eclipsed." 

Once  the  gentle  guide  asked  her  earthly  lover, 

"  Why  doth  my  face  so  much  enamour  thee 
That  to  the  garden  fair  thou  turnest  not, 
Which  under  the  rays  of  Christ  is  blossoming? 
There  is  the  rose  in  which  the  Word  divine 
Became  incarnate ;  there  the  lilies  are 
By  whose  perfume  the  good  way  was  discovered." 

Heaven  is  not  reached  always  according  to  expectations  : 

**  For  I  have  seen  all  winter  long  the  thorn 
First  show  itself  intractable  and  fierce, 
And  after  bear  the  rose  upon  its  top; 
And  I  have  seen  a  ship  direct  and  swift 
Run  o'er  the  sea  throughout  its  course  entire, 
To  perish  at  the  harbor's  mouth  at  last." 

To  the  end  the  sweetness  of  the  Paradiso  is  sustained  ; 
perhaps  the  spirit  wearies,  for  few  have  the  saintliness 
of  a  Beatrice  or  the  simplicity  of  a  Dante.  But  the 
dream  remains — the  most  beautiful  dream  of  the  ages 
and  the  grandest  expression  both  of  the  epoch  of 
splendor  and  of  the  Christian  consciousness. 

The  thirteenth  century  was  the  golden  age  of  English 
churchmen.  The  Church,  indeed,  between  king  and 
pope,  suffered  many  things — spoliation,  tyranny  and 
grievous  wrongs.    Both  sought  her  subjection,  in  order. 


THE   CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  359 

as  the  chroniclers  put  it,  that  they  might  not  only  tear 
the  fleece  from  her  sheep,  but  also  pick  the  flesh  off  their 
bones.  But  the  clergy,  strong  in  ability  and  in  courage, 
fought  vigorously  against  the  exactions  of  the  papal  and 
the  regal  taskmasters.  Supported  by  the  people,  they 
defied  the  pope  and  told  the  king  of  his  crimes.  In  vain 
did  the  pontiff  excommunicate  and  the  monarch  im- 
prison :  the  age  was  one  of  heroes,  and  heroes  care 
naught  for  such  things.  The  control  was  broken,  and 
men  followed  the  bent  of  their  nature,  reckless  of  conse- 
quences, either  to  good  or  to  bad.  Among  the  clergy 
were  some  splendid  for  their  extravagance  and  their 
wickedness,  but,  as  Matthew  Paris,  writing  in  1 248,  ob- 
serves, "  amongst  the  angels  the  Lord  found  a  rebel ; 
amongst  the  seven  deacons,  a  deviator  from  the  right 
path ;  amongst  the  apostles,  a  traitor ;  and  God  forbid 
that  the  sin  of  one  or  of  a  few  should  redound  to  the 
disgrace  of  such  a  numerous  community  !"  Hence  the 
brutality  of  Boniface  of  Canterbury,  who  wore  armor 
under  his  robes  and  personally  assaulted  the  defenceless, 
or  the  wasteful  pomp  of  an  archdeacon  of  Richmond 
who  on  his  visitations  rode  with  ninety-seven  horses, 
twenty-one  hounds  and  three  hawks,  should  not  over- 
shadow the  graces  and  the  virtues  of  the  great  body  of 
churchmen.  Wrong-doers  did  not  go  unrebuked :  the 
people  resented  the  luxury  of  Giffard  of  Worcester 
and  called  De  Roche  of  Winchester  a  "  Bishop  of  But- 
terflies." And  if  some  of  the  prelates  were  most  dis- 
tinguished as  chancellors  and  treasurers  of  the  realm, 
others  displayed  a  diligence  and  fearlessness  in  their 
pastoral  work  and  a  purity  and  devotion  in  their  life 
which  won  for  them  the  reverence  of  all  men.     None  is 


360  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HIS  TOR  Y. 

more  worthy  of  a  place  in  the  calendar  of  saints  than 
Edmund  Rich  of  Canterbury,  the  irreproachable  Walter 
de  Gray  of  York,  or  Thomas  de  Cantelupe  of  Hereford. 
The  two  greatest  bishops  in  England,  alike  celebrated 
for  their  ability,  faithfulness  and  holy  life,  were  Grosse- 
teste  of  Lincoln  and  Walter  of  Worcester.  Not  only 
were  they  able  administrators  of  their  dioceses,  but  none 
more  boldly  vindicated  the  rights  of  their  country  against 
tyranny,  of  whatever  kind.  Sewall,  archbishop  of  York, 
died  uttering  an  appeal  against  the  pope — who  for  years 
had  grievously  harassed  him — to  the  supreme  and  incor- 
ruptible Judge  of  heaven.  Diversity  of  gifts  marked  the 
episcopate ;  most  bishops  were  builders,  many  were 
scholars,  some  great  preachers,  others,  like  Bruere  of 
Exeter,  crusaders,  and  others,  like  Mauger  of  Worcester 
and  Farnham  of  Durharn,  physicians.  In  Robert  de 
Stitchill.  bishop  of  Durham  from  1260  to  1274,  is  an 
illustration  of  a  giddy  boy  becoming  a  wise  man.  One 
Sunday,  when  a  lad,  for  some  indiscretion,  he  was  or- 
dered to  sit  on  a  stool  in  the  midst  of  the  choir.  The 
disgrace  touched  him  so  deeply  that  he  caught  the  stool 
with  his  foot  and  kicked  it  out  of  the  choir  among  the 
people  outside.  He  then  made  up  his  mind  that  night 
to  run  away;  but  when  putting  his  determination  into 
effect,  as  he  passed  by  a  cross  on  the  north  side  of  the 
choir,  he  heard  a  voice  bidding  him  return.  He  obeyed, 
and,  applying,  himself  to  the  study  of  the  Scriptures,  in 
a  short  time  he  was  distinguished  for  his  attainments 
and  his  regularity  of  life.  When  made  bishop,  his  con- 
duct was  an  honor  to  himself  and  a  benefit  to  his  see. 
His  successor,  Robert,  was  from  Lindisfarne — a  man  by 
nature  peaceful  and  friendly,  but  his  mother  had  a  spice 


THE    CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  36 1 

of  perversity.  She  was  poor ;  and  when  Robert  became 
bishop,  he  provided  for  her  in  a  way  more  suitable  to 
his  rank  than  to  her  taste.  On  visiting  her  on  one 
occasion  and  asking  her  how  she  did,  she  answered, 
**  Very  badly." — "  Why,  sweet  mother  ?"  he  inquired. 
"  Do  you  want  for  anything — servant  or  handmaid,  or 
any  needful  expense  ?" — "  No,"  she  said  ;  "  I  have 
enough  of  everything;  but  when  I  say  to  one  fellow, 
*  Go,'  he  runs,  or  to  another,  *  Come,'  he  gets  down  on 
his  knees,  and  all  goes  on  so  smoothly  that  I  cannot 
ease  my  mind  by  getting  angry."  This  bishop  died 
in  1283. 

Richard  of  Wych,  bishop  of  Chichester  from  1 245  to 
1253,  is  both  a  good  representative  of  the  mediaeval 
saint  and  also  an  illustration  of  the  opportunity  for 
advancement  which  the  Church  gave  to  every  man  of 
ability,  notwithstanding  his  birth  or  his  property.  He 
was  the  son  of  a  poor  farmer  in  Worcestershire,  but  by 
dint  of  hard  toil  and  skilful  management  Richard  se- 
cured sufficient  means  to  enable  him  to  pursue  his 
studies  at  Oxford.  His  life  there  was  severe.  He  and 
two  companions*  had  but  one  warm  tunic  and  one  hood- 
ed gown  between  them,  in  which  they  attended  lectures 
by  turns.  Fire  was  a  rare  luxury :  when  cold,  the 
student  had  to  cast  aside  his  books  and  pen  and  run 
about  to  warm  himself  The  usual  fare  consisted  of 
vegetables  and  bread  with  a  very  little  wine ;  on  high 
festivals,  fish  and  flesh.  But  in  his  desire  for  knowledge 
Richard  cared  little  for  such  inconveniences.  In  time 
he  was  made  Master  of  Arts  at  Oxford ;  he  read  at 
Paris,  and  for  seven  years  he  studied  law  at  Bologna. 
Wherever  he  went,  his  fine  intelligence,  self-denial  and 


362  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  IIISTOR  Y. 

pure,  affectionate  heart  won  him  'honor  and  love.  The 
fame  of  his  piety  and  his  learning  reached  England. 
In  1235,  Oxford  made  him  chancellor  of  the  university, 
and  soon  Edmund  Rich — once  his  professor,  but  now 
archbishop  of  Canterbury — gave  him  the  same  office 
in  his  diocese.  When  Edmund  died,  Richard  studied 
theology,  was  ordained  priest  and  became  vicar  of  Deal, 
in  Kent ;  but  that  pious  and  learned  leisure  which  he 
coveted  was  not  long  for  him.  In  1245  he  was  made 
bishop  of  Chichester.  He  found  his  diocese  in  so  bad 
a  state  that  for  two  years  he  was  obliged  to  live  upon 
the  hospitality  of  his  clergy,  and  to  travel  on  foot  from 
parish  to  parish  across  the  downs  of  Sussex.  Between 
his  journeys  he  stayed  with  a  poor  priest,  Simon  of 
Tarring,  and  occupied  himself  in  those  arts  in  which 
he  had  once  excelled  in  the  orchards  of  Worcestershire. 
When  better  times  came,  his  zeal  grew  more  intense. 
He  preached  in  all  parts  of  his  diocese,  visited  the  sick 
and  not  unfrequently  with  his  own  hands  prepared  the 
dead  for  burial.  His  charities  were  bountiful  to  reck- 
lessness. "  Your  alms,"  said  his  steward,  "  exceed  your 
income." — "  Then  sell  my  plate  and  horse,"  was  the 
prompt  reply.  His  brother  remonstrated,  but  the  bishop 
replied,  "  Our  father  ate  and  drank  out  of  common 
crockery,  and  I  have  no  need  of  gold  and  silver  plate." 
His  discipline  was  rigid.  "  Never,"  he  said,  "  shall  a 
ribald  have  cure  of  souls  in  my  diocese  of  Chichester." 
Rectors  were  to  have  but  one  parish,  and  to  reside 
therein.  They  were  not  to  dress  as  laymen,  wear  long 
hair  or  indulge  in  the  chase,  but  to  minister  reverently 
and  to  care  for  their  people  devoutly.  As  he  had  lived 
when  poor,  so  he  lived  when  rich — the  same  frugal  fare 


THE   CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  363 

of  bis  old  Oxford  days  and  up  before  the  birds  arose  to 
say  his  prayer.  "  Shame  on  me,"  he  would  cry,  "  that 
these  irrational  creatures  should  be  before  me  in  singing 
praise  to  God  !"  Thus  this  simple-minded,  learned  and 
holy  man  won  the  love  of  his  contemporaries  and  the 
admiration  of  posterity.  He  wore  himself  out  with 
work.  In  his  last  illness  he  went  to  Dover  to  consecrate 
a  church  for  the  poor;  he  returned  to  Chichester  to  die. 
To  an  old  friend  by  his  bedside  he  said  with  a  peaceful 
countenance,  "  I  was  glad  when  they  said,  Let  us  go 
unto  the  house  of  the  Lord."  His  last  words  expressed 
the  faith  of  his  soul :  "  Lord  Jesus  Christ,  I  thank  thee 
for  all  the  blessings  thou  hast  given  me,  and  for  all  the 
pains  thou  hast  endured  for  me ;  so  that  to  thee  apply 
most  truly  those  words,  '  Come  and  see  if  there  be  any 
sorrow  like  unto  my  sorrow.'  Thou  knowest.  Lord, 
how  willingly  I  would  endure  insult  and  pain  and  death 
for  thee;  therefore  have  mercy  on  me,  for  to  thee  I 
commend  my  spirit."  Tranquilly  he  passed  away  into 
the  heavenly  land,  his  memory  among  men  to  remain 
for  ever  and  his  name  to  have  an  honored  place  in  the 
Anglican  calendar.  The  farmer's  son  became  a  famous 
scholar,  a  great  bishop  and  a  glorious  saint.  If  after  his 
death  wondrous  traditions  concerning  him  multiplied, 
it  should  be  remembered,  as  has  well  been  said,  that 
legends  are  like  the  clouds  which  gather  upon  the 
mountain^summits  and  show  the  height  and  take  the 
shapes  of  the  peaks  about  which  they  cling.  They  are 
a  testimony  to  the  worth  of  the  man  of  whom  they 
speak ;  and  worthy  indeed   was   Richard   of  Wych. 

Bishops  such  as  these  sought  above  all  things  else  to 
maintain  order  in  their  dioceses ;  with  a  commendable 


364  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

earnestness  they  endeavored  to  make  their  clergy  living 
examples  to  the  flock  of  Christ.  Some  would  have 
greater  decency  in  the  sanctuary;  hence  a  bishop  of 
Worcester  in  1238  forbade  the  canons  of  Bristol  to  fly 
like  bees  out  of  the  choir  as  soon  as  service  was  over. 
Others  laid  stress  upon  moral  observances,  as  did  the 
archbishop  of  York  in  1201  concerning  the  keeping  of 
the  Sabbath.  The  record  of  his  eflbrts  in  this  direction 
is  given  by  Roger  de  Hoveden,  and  the  chronicler  sup- 
ports the  duty  of  abstaining  from  all  work  on  the  Lord's 
day  by  some  singular  stories.  Bread  baked  on  the  eve 
of  Sunday  became  corrupt,  millwheels  stopped  of  their 
own  accord,  and  several  people  who  disobeyed  were 
struck  with  paralysis.  Roger  of  Wendover  tells  of  a 
Norfolk  washerwoman  who,  pursuing  her  avocation  on 
Saturday  evening  after  due  warning,  was  suddenly  seized 
by  a  small  black  pig.  The  pig  sucked  till  he  drew 
blood ;  she  was  so  weakened  as  to  be  obliged  to  give 
up  all  work,  and,  having  for  a  time  begged  her  bread, 
at  last  she  died.  Such  gossip  is  indeed  puerile,  but  it 
is  recorded  with  due  solemnity  and  in  honest  faith,  and 
betokens  an  earnest  desire  to  maintain  a  righteous  law. 
Similar  attempts  were  made  in  the  direction  of  personal 
purity ;  people  learned  to  blush  at  sin.  The  world  loved 
the  splendor  and  the  glare  of  sunlight,  but  the  world 
honestly  wished  the  splendor  and  the  glare  to  be  as 
clean  and  as  healthful  as  are  those  of  the  sun. 

The  art  and  the  grandeur  of  the  age  are  in  nothing 
more  manifest  than  in  the  buildings  which  were  raised 
to  the  glory  of  God  and  now  adorn  especially  the  moth- 
erland. The  early  English  style  of  Pointed  architecture 
was  coming  in  to  make  lovely  cathedral,  minster  and 


THE    CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  365 

abbey,  and  with  sculpture  to  give  them  the  spirit  and 
the  sweetness  of  an  ever-living  poem  in  stone.  Their 
marvellous  beauty,  sublime  design  and  lavish  costliness 
fill  us  with  wonder ;  their  sweeping  arches,  lofty  shafts, 
traceried  windows  and  delicately-wrought  figures  sub- 
due our  soul.  What  is  more  majestic  than  the  Cathe- 
dral of  St.  Cuthbert,  the  noblest  Norm.an  structure  in 
all  England,  standing  so  proudly  and  boldly  on  the 
heights  above  the  broad  and  lordly  Weir?  what  more 
graceful  than  rose-tinted  Lichfield  or  soaring  Salisbury, 
or  more  superb  than  glorious  Canterbury  or  stately 
York  ?  Yet  these  are  but  a  few  out  of  many,  each  of 
which  is  in  itself  a  distinct  creation,  and  all  of  which 
derive  their  force,  attractiveness  and  delicacy  first  from 
the  wealth  of  imagination  displayed,  and  secondly  from 
a  close  and  loving  imitation  of  nature  in  its  woodlands 
and  its  flowers.  Even  the  ruins  partake  of  the  same 
glory.  The  deepest  emotions  are  stirred  by  Croyland 
and  Peterborough  in  the  fenland,  Rievaulx  and  Foun- 
tains in  Yorkshire,  Tewkesbury  near  the  Cotswolds  and 
Furness  in  the  Vale  of  Deadly  Nightshade  by  the  ocean- 
side.  And  there  are  Glastonbury  in  the  isle  of  Avalon, 
with  its  legends  of  Joseph  of  Arimathea  and  King 
Arthur;  bits  of  Bury  St.  Edmund,  fragrant  with  the 
memories  of  Abbot  Sampson ;  Tintern,  amid  the  green 
meadows  and  the  wooded  hills  beside  the  tide-stirred 
Wye ;  and  Beaulieu,  "  the  abbey  of  the  beautiful  spot," 
with  Netley,  among  the  gentle  hills  and  lovely  wilds 
and  charming  scenery  of  Hampshire.  Others  no  less 
renowned  either  in  history  or  for  their  beauty  of  archi- 
tecture and  surroundings  are  scattered  over  the  land, 
and,  though  one  may  not  assent  to  St.  Bernard's  eulog>- 


366  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

of  the  monastic  life  so  beautifully  rendered  by  Words- 
worth— 

"  Here  man  more  purely  lives,  less  oft  doth  fall ; 
More  promptly  rises,  walks  with  stricter  heed; 
More  safely  rests,  dies  happier ;  is  freed 
Earlier  from  cleansing  fires,  and  gains,  withal, 
A  brighter  crown  " — 


yet  in  beholding  these  wonderful  creations  of  the  dis- 
tant past  and  contemplating  their  historical  associations 
and  sacred  memories  one  cannot  but  be  touched  as  was 
Barham  in  Westminster  Abbey — the  most  glorious  of 
all  earth's  glories : 

**  A  feeling  sad  game  o'er  me  as  I  trod  the  sacred  ground 
Where  Tudors  and  Plantagenets  were  lying  all  around ; 
I  stepp'd  with  noiseless  foot,  as  though  the  sound  of  mortal  tread 
Might  burst  the  bands  of  the  dreamless  sleep  that  wraps  the  mighty 
dead." 

These  buildings  were  the  outcome  of  a  deeply-relig- 
ious spirit  and  the  offerings  of  a  people  who  believed 
that  no  temple  could  be  too  beautiful  or  too  costly  for 
the  worship  of  the  Lord  of  nations.  The  extravagance 
of  devotion  displayed  itself  both  in  the  massive  and  en- 
during walls  and  towers  and  in  the  adornment  of  choir 
and  nave  and  aisle.  Richly-colored  windows,  costly 
shrines,  jewelled  altars,  figures  and  pictures  of  rare 
workmanship.  Scripture  scenes  set  forth  upon  the 
walls,  monuments  and  effigies,  and  the  most  entran- 
cing effects  of  light  and  shade,  of  delicate  tracery  and 
exquisite  carving,  of  artistic  combinations  and  startling 
contrasts,  met  the  eye  on  entering  the  sacred  edifice. 
Here  in  the  lofty  clerestory  were  angels  winging  their 


THE   CENTURY  OE  SPLENDOR,  367 

way  from  heaven  to  earth  in  the  ministry  of  the  King ; 
yonder  was  an  angel  of  loveHest  grace  holding  in  his 
hand  the  baptismal  waters  and  displaying  in  his  face  the 
sweetness  with  which  the  Lord  Jesus  looked  upon  the 
babes  brought  to  him.  Nothing,  indeed,  was  left  un- 
done, no  cost  or  labor  was  spared,  that  was  likely  to 
move  the  spirit  of  devotion  or  show  honor  to  God.  To 
the  people  of  those  days  the  church  was  a  consecrated 
building  in  which  the  Almighty  was  ever  present  to  be- 
hold the  beauty  of  Sion  and  to  give  blessing  to  his  peo- 
ple. From  break  of  day  till  the  fading  of  the  evening 
crimson  the  doors  were  open  and  either  hallowed  service 
or  silent  prayer  was  going  on.  The  place  seemed  liv- 
ing ;  the  misty  depths  appeared  tilled  with  a  luminous 
cloud,  and  the  very  effigies  looked  as  though  they 
prayed  in  their  sleep.  And  when  the  murmur  of  the 
bells  fell  upon  the  gardens  and  orchards,  the  hillside 
and  river-meadow,  or  when  the  organ-roll  echoed  amid 
the  lofty  arches  and  voices  sweetly  sang  the  hymn  to 
Christ,  the  hearts  of  the  people  of  those  days  were 
touched  with  the  same  unutterable  longings  and  divine 
emotions  which  now  come  to  men,  and  which  doubtless 
even  angels  feel  in  the  land  above. 

Amid  the  legends  and  the  traditions  of  these  build- 
ings, if  some  were  childish  and  grotesque,  others  were 
beautiful  and  true.  Many  a  precious  thought  was  con- 
veyed under  these  better  stories.  In  this  parish,  men 
were  told,  when  the  church  was  in  building,  an  invisible 
hand  had  thrown  down  the  walls,  broken  up  the  founda- 
tions and  removed  them  to  a  more  desirable  site — a 
proof  that  God  demands  and  will  give  his  benediction 
only  to  the  best.     In  another  parish  the  story  ran  that 


368  READINGS^ IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

whilst  the  earthly  workmen  slept  a  mysterious  power 
had  wrought,  and  thus  the  fair  edifice  arose  with  the 
silence  and  the  grandeur  of  that  temple  in  which  was 
heard  the  sound  neither  of  hammer  nor  of  axe.     Even 
the  legend   of  the  dead  arising,   *'  clad   in   war-stained 
armor,"  in  one  of  the   cathedral    graveyards  to  defend 
the  man  who  had  never  entered  the  place  without  pray- 
ing for  them  at  least  suggests  the  quiet  conscience,  the 
impregnable  defence,  which  are  theirs  who  have  never 
suffered  friend  to  leave  this  life  save  with  the  remem- 
brance of  kindly  deeds  and  loving  words.     One  of  the 
sweetest  traditions  is  of  the  two  sisters  who  sleep  be- 
neath a  canopied  tomb  in  the  minster  at  Beverley.     The 
youngest  and  the  last  of  the  convent,  after  the  midnight 
services  of  Christmas  eve  they  passed  out  of  the  choir  to 
watch  the  star  of  the  Nativity.     From  the  tower-heights 
they  eagerly  gazed  toward  the  east;    then,   exhausted 
and  overcome  by  the  cold,  they  dropped  asleep.     When 
awakened,  they  said  that  they  had  had  dreams  of  para- 
dise— warning  that  the  angel  of  death  had  touched  them. 
*'  Go  in  peace,  my  daughters,"  said  the  abbess ;  and  in  a 
brief  while  the  tender  spirits  passed  away,  and  the  bells, 
rung  by  unseen  hands,  poured  forth  a  peal  of  joy  for 
two  more  lilies  planted   in  the  heavenly  Eden.     Such 
stories   have    the    delicate    grace    and   the    sympathetic 
poetry  which  are  expressed  in  the  churches  themselves. 
An  age  in  which  they  abound  is  neither  dark  nor  fool- 
ish.    It  may  have  many  weaknesses  and  many  shadows, 
but  it  will  also  be  suffused  with  the  radiance  of  a  noble 
life. 

The  abbey  furnishes  another  suggestive  picture  of  the 
times.      One   of  the  monastic  virtues  was  hospitality; 


THE   CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  369 

and  when  the  long  shadows  fell  eastward,  travellers  and 
traders  availed  themselves  of  the  shelter  and  the  food 
offered  by  the  brethren.  The  best  that  the  farm,  the 
chase  and  the  stream  could  supply  was  set  before  the 
guests.  In  the  hospitium,  crowding  the  long  tables,  re- 
counting adventures  or  completing  bargains,  the  nobles, 
knights  and  ladies,  the  merchants  and  minstrels,  the 
pilgrims,  palmers  and  beggars,  presented  a  motley  ap- 
pearance and  made  a  babel  of  confusion.  Their  noisy 
tongues  were  scarcely  stayed  while  perchance  one  told 
a  strange  story  or  another  sang  a  pleasing  ballad.  Free 
both  in  heart  and  in  nianner,  by  quip  and  jest,  by  mim- 
icry, legerdemain  and  reminiscence,  the  sons  of  gayety 
made  the  evening  hours  short,  caused  the  black  oaken 
beams  to  echo  with  boisterous  mirth,  and  brought  the 
irrepressible  smile  into  the  sedate  countenances  of  the 
sub-prior  and  his  servitors.  The  world  was  there — the 
rattling  of  armor,  the  rustling  of  silk,  the  creaking  of 
leather;  the  dame  of  high  degree  with  her  pages  and 
her  hawks,  the  yeoman  with  his  dogs,  the  limitour, 
plump,  circumspect  and  foul,  the  warrior  garrulous  of 
battles  and  heroes,  and  the  chapman  watching  his  wares 
and  reckoning  his  gains.  Outside,  the  rain  and  the 
night ;  within,  the  blazing  logs,  the  merry  company  and 
the  wine  of  fair  vintage.  And  not  far  away,  alone  in  the 
silence  and  the  gloom  of  the  cloister,  was  some  brother 
watching  unto  prayer.  He  heard  no  sound  of  revelry — 
naught  but  the  sobbing  wind  or  the  hooting  owl ;  he  saw 
amid  the  shadows  only  the  form  of  another  like  himself 
and  the  tremulous  rays  of  the  lychni  at  a  shrine.  When 
yonder  earthlings  are  quiet  in  sleep,  he  will  still  be 
there  ;  that  is  his  life,  and  is  there  not  a  reward  promised 

24 


370  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

to  them  that  look  for  the  coming  of  the  Son  of  man  ? 
Perhaps  rather  than  in  the  picturesque  assembly  in  the 
hospitium  the  noblest  splendor  of  the  age  appears  in  the 
lonely  monk  of  the  cloister. 

One  scene,  memorable  both  for  its  display  of  heroism 
and  for  its  consequences,  expresses  much  of  the  spirit 
of  this  century. 

On  an  early  .summer  day,  1 21 5,  in  a  meadow  beside 
the  Thames,  not  far  from  Windsor,  two  bands  of  armed 
men  met  for  conference.  In  the  one  company  was  John, 
king  of  England;  in  the  other,  Robert  Fitz- Walter, 
leader  of  the  barons  and  "  marshall  of  the  army  of  God." 
Neither  the  purpose  nor  the  result  will  ever  be  forgotten. 
The  weak  and  gloomy  sovereign  had  filled  up  the  meas- 
ure of  his  iniquities.  For  sixteen  years  he  had  reigned 
in  oppression,  injustice  and  cruelty.  His  life  was  one 
mass  of  lust  and  violence.  He  wronged  baron  and  priest 
and  cruelly  treated  freeman  and  villain,  forfeiting  their 
privileges,  wringing  from  them  the  means  to  support  his 
purposes,  and  in  the  stead  of  his  own  subjects  gathering 
around  him  foreigners  who  abetted  his  crimes  and  en- 
couraged his  obstinacy.  Alienated  from  his  people  and 
quaking  at  heart  with  cowardice,  he  surrendered  his 
realm  to  the  papal  legate  and  agreed  to  hold  it  as  a  fief 
of  Rome.  Then  the  burden  became  unbearable  and  re- 
volt broke  out.  With  Stephen  Langton,  archbishop  of 
Canterbury,  at  their  head,  the  bishops  and  the  barons 
united  for  the  defence  of  national  freedom  and  of  national 
law.  Success  followed ;  the  country  stood  by  them, 
and  the  king  was  left  with  only  seven  knights  and  a 
handful  of  men.  "  Name  a  time  and  place,"  said  he, 
"  and  I  will  grant  the  rights  and  liberties  demanded." — 


THE   CENTURY  OF  SPLENDOR.  37 1 

"  Let  the  day,"  was  the  reply,  "  be  the  fifteenth  of  June ; 
the  place,  Runnymede."  So  in  the  '*  meadow  of  coun- 
sel "  the  armed  league  unfolded  the  scroll  in  which  were 
contained  the  articles  of  peace;  these  granted,  John 
might  reign.  The  luckless  monarch  had  no  alternative. 
He  signed  the  deed — that  which  has  won  the  name  of 
*'  the  Great  Charter."  Then  the  prelates  and  the  earls 
appointed  a  council  to  see  that  the  king  kept  his  word. 
"  Four-and-twenty  overkings  !"  furiously  exclaimed  John 
when  on  his  return  to  Windsor  he  flung  himself  in  his 
impotent  rage  on  the  floor  and  gnawed  the  sticks  and 
straws.  Promptly  did  the  pope  excommunicate  the  pa- 
triots ;  as  soon  as  possible  did  John  seek  to  make  the 
charter  of  none  effect.  A  fierce  struggle  plunged  the 
country  in  woe,  but  the  spirit  of  law  and  of  freedom 
lived.  Thirty  times  within  two  hundred  years  were  the 
kings  of  England  compelled  to  renew  and  to  confirm 
that  charter;  in  it  the  people  saw  the  foundation  and 
the  security  of  just  and  honorable  rights.  It  decreed 
that  justice  to  any  one  should  not  be  sold,  refused  or 
delayed ;  that  trial  should  be  by  jury  and  that  punish- 
ment should  accord  with  the  offence ;  and  that  except 
in  time  of  war  subjects  should  be  free  to  leave  the  king- 
dom. It  laid  down  the  principles  of  constitutional  gov- 
ernment and  made  it  possible  for  the  nation  to  dethrone 
an  unjust  ruler  and  to  create  for  itself  a  king.  And  the 
first  article  of  Magna  Carta  ordained  against  both  pope 
and  king  that  the  Church  of  England,  using  the  same 
title  which  it  bears  to-day,  shall  be  free  and  keep  its 
laws  entire  and  its  liberties  uninfringed.  That  charter 
was  drawn  up  under  the  eye  of  an  archbishop  of  Canter- 
bury, and  was  supported  by  the  prelates,  the  clergy  and 


372  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

the  baronage  of  England  as  an  expression  of  their  polit- 
ical aspirations ;  it  was  the  death-knell  of  tyranny,  no 
matter  what  its  form,  ecclesiastical,  national,  regal  or 
social ;  it  helped  to  the  formation  of  parliaments,  diets 
and  councils ;  and  its  spirit,  so  righteous  and  so  magnif- 
icent, gathered  strength  with  the  ages  until  it  has  made 
the  Anglo-Saxon  peoples  the  foremost  in  the  world's 
civilization  and  the  rulers  of  the  world's  future. 


CHAPTER  XIII. 

The  Reformation  was  not  the  work  of  one  generation 
or  of  one  school  of  thought,  nor  did  it  concern  only  one 
phase  of  life.  It  was  the  outcome  of  ages,  the  inevita- 
ble evolution  of  principles,  wide-stretching  in  its  pur- 
pose and  in  its  results  affecting  most  things  human.  The 
climax  was  reached  in  the  sixteenth  century,  but  for 
the  previous  two  or  three  hundred  years  the  forces  had 
been  gathering  strength ;  and,  rather  than  being  super- 
ficial or  exclusive,  it  was  religious,  intellectual,  political, 
moral  and  social,  stirring  the  deepest  depths  of  human- 
ity, severing  time  in  twain  and  creating  a  new  era.  Such 
a  movement  was  necessarily  complex ;  it  was  the  work 
of  friends  and  foes,  of  powers  sometimes  antagonistic 
and  warring  against  each  other,  sometimes,  perhaps 
unconsciously,  striving  together  for  the  same  end,  and 
neither  side,  even  when  the  struggle  became  definite, 
being  absolutely  either  good  or  bad.  Causes  delight- 
ful and  causes  distressing  intermingled  and  produced 
results  sometimes  of  questionable  value.  Prejudice, 
therefore,  must  not  be  suffered  to  lead  to  exaggeration. 
The  times  of  the  brewing  of  the  storm  were  worse  than 
most  times,  but,  like  all  times,  not  entirely  evil.  To  pass 
from  the  thirteenth  century  into  the  fourteenth  and 
fifteenth  centuries  is  much  like  leaving  meridian  splen- 

373 


374  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

dor  for  midnight  gloom.  The  brilliancy  has  vanished, 
and  in  place  of  a  glory  grand,  exalted  and  heroic  the  age 
is  largely  distinguished  by,  a  debased  selfishness  and 
heartless  cruelty.  But  the  darkness  was  not  unrelieved, 
nor  was  the  degradation  absolute;  many  a  beautiful 
spirit  and  many  a  charming  episode  came  in  to  brighten 
a  period  that  some  have  thought  unbearable.  If  there 
were  little  solar  splendor,  there  was  at  least  sidereal  love- 
liness, and  in  place  of  the  blinding  flashes  which  rend 
the  storm-cloud  were  the  gentle  play  and  the  attractive 
coruscations  of  the  Aurora. 

Nothing  more  surely  betokened  coming  change  than 
the  Renascence.  Europe  was  awaking  out  of  her  intel- 
lectual stupor.  The  touch  of  life  came,  as  the  daylight 
comes,  from  the  East.  Owing  partly  to  the  ravages  of 
Goths  and  of  Arabs  elsewhere  and  partly  to  its  unri- 
valled position,  in  the  twelfth  and  thirteenth  centuries 
Constantinople  was  not  only  the  capital  of  the  Eastern 
Empire,  but  also  the  principal  commercial  city  in  the 
world  and  the  busy  hive  of  literature,  art  and  science. 
The  capture  of  the  city  in  1204  by  the  Latins  dispersed 
the  commerce,  brought  intercourse  between  Italians  and 
Greeks  and  occasioned  the  revival  of  art  in  the  thirteenth 
century.  Then,  in  1453,  when  the  Turks  destroyed  the 
Empire  and  made  sure  their  footing  in  Europe,  the  schol- 
ars of  Constantinople  were  scattered  and  their  famous 
schools  broken  up.  They  found  a  ready  welcome  in 
Western  Europe.  There,  and  especially  at  Florence, 
the  new  teachers  made  known  the  language  and  the 
literature  of  the  ancient  Homeric  land,  and  brought 
about  a  revival  of  letters  not  only  in  the  country  of 
Virgil  and   Caesar,  but  also  in  the  realm   of  Caedmon 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION.  375 

and  Alfred.  With  the  dispersion  synchronized  the  in- 
vention of  printing  and  the  increased  use  of  Hnen  paper, 
whereby  the  sacred  and  classical  writings  and  the  spec- 
ulations of  the  men  of  the  Renascence  were  made  cheap 
and  scattered  far  and  wide.  This  very  effort  to  make 
knowledge  popular  and  communication  of  thought  easy, 
so  anxiously  fostered  by  scholars  of  influence,  was  itself 
fatal  both  to  the  long-continued  intellectual  exclusiveness 
and  to  the  permanence  of  a  scholasticism  which  had  in 
it  little  besides  monastic  narrowness  and  the  coldness  of 
inexorable  logic.  Previous  to  the  introduction  of  the 
press  into  England,  in  1473,  ^  copy  of  Wickliffe's  New 
Testament  cost  the  entire  wages  of  a  laborer  for  two  years, 
and  the  whole  Bible  the  same  for  fifteen  years.  Now  it 
was  possible  at  a  comparatively  low  price  to  own  the 
Scriptures,  not  only  in  the  mother-tongue,  but  also  in 
Greek  and  in  Hebrew. 

The  impetus  thus  given  to  Western  Europe  by  these 
scattered  teachers  naturally  affected  the  universities  and 
forced  them  into  greater  prominence.  Popular  education 
was  also  furthered  by  the  foundation,  as  in  England,  of 
free  public  schools.  The  cost  of  attending  these  centres 
of  learning  was  not  great,  and  to  needy  scholars  help  was 
afforded  by  the  gifts  and  the  bequests  of  charitable  indi- 
viduals ;  nor  were  students  ashamed  to  work  for  their 
bread  while  they  learned.  It  was  evident  that  reading 
and  writing  were  no  more  the  prerogatives  of  clergy  and 
of  monks  and  unworthy  the  notice  or  the  acquisition 
of  men  of  gentle  or  of  noble  birth.  The  middle  classes 
realized  an  interest  in  learning,  and  in  the  fifteenth  cen- 
tury, as  is  illustrated  by  the  Paston  correspondence,  even 
English  country-people  were  able  to  write  in  their  own 


3/6  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

mother-tongue  grammatical  and  readable  letters.  Not 
only  nobles  and  professors,  but  also  rural  squires,  wrote 
to  one  another  about  books  and  libraries.  A  few  vol- 
umes found  their  way  into  the  houses  of  farmers,  and  it 
has  with  some  probability  been  claimed  that  in  busy  dis- 
tricts, such  as  Norfolkshire,  the  percentage  of  people  in 
the  latter  part  of  the  fifteenth  century  who  knew  the 
clerkly  art  was  as  great  as  it  was  ninety  years  since. 
Any  way,  men  began  to  think  for  themselves,  and  the 
village-lad  brought  home  from  school  or  college  new 
ideas,  fresh  ways  of  looking  at  things,  and  spread  them 
among  his  old  friends  and  neighbors.  And  certainly 
the  university,  with  its  democratic  tendencies,  its  reck- 
less pursuit  of  knowledge,  its  recognition  of  merit  and 
its  moulding  power,  became  directly  antagonistic  to 
the  mediaeval  conceptions  both  of  the  Church  and  of 
society.  Of  design  there  was  none,  but  the  drift  was 
inevitable.  The  world  would  some  day  require  a  reason 
for  its  faith  and  question  the  justice  of  arbitrary  social 
divisions. 

To  this  end  had  also  gone  the  influence  of  the  cru- 
sades:  they  did  much  to  bring  the  rude  regions  of  the 
West  into  contact  with  the  cultured  East.  For,  though 
unbelievers  and  worshippers  of  the  False  Prophet,  the 
Saracens  were  foremost  in  the  world's  civilization.  Their 
fanaticism  led  them  frequently  to  imitate  the  cruel  ex- 
cesses of  their  Christian  opponents,  but  they  had  a  gen- 
uine love  of  art,  a  considerable  knowledge  of  science, 
an  anxious  care  for  the  happier  and  more  peaceful  de- 
velopment of  society,  and,  notwithstanding  their  bigotry, 
a  delightful  generosity  and  a  noble  charity.  From  them 
the  crusader  learned   much  besides  the  art  of  bearing 


EEC  INNINGS  OF  REFORMATION.  377 

defeat  with  equanimity.  When  he  went  back  to  his 
home  in  the  towns  or  the  villages  toward  the  setting 
sun,  he  took  many  a  story  pregnant  with  thought  as 
well  as  with  wonder  which  caused  some  cogitation  in  the 
minds  of  his  hearers.  He  spoke  of  the  comforts  and 
the  cleanliness  of  the  people  of  the  East,  and  told  of 
their  houses,  gardens,  streets  and  shops.  Possibly  he 
showed  some  bit  of  rare  workmanship  or  planted  in  the 
orchard  a  sprig  of  some  choice  flower  or  tree.  He 
became  an  authority  in  his  neighborhood,  for  travel 
expands  the  mind  and  imparts  influence.  He  might 
even  smile  at  the  credulity  of  his  friends  and  crack  a 
pleasant  joke  over  the  parish  priest  or  the  Fathers  of 
the  abbey — perhaps  assume  a  superior  and  supercilious 
air  toward  all  things  around  which  might  offend,  but 
which  would  also  be  sure  to  create  a  feeling  of  dissat- 
isfaction and  of  shame.  Certainly  he  would  know  that 
all  the  graces  of  humanity  were  not  confined  to  Chris- 
tendom, and  that  bravery,  virtue,  honor  and  fortitude 
were  as  common  to  swarthy  Arabs  as  to  the  flowers  of 
European  chivalry. 

With  the  development  of  mental  energies  art  also 
advanced.  In  England,  for  example,  more  roads  were 
made,  thus  rendering  intercourse  easier  and  bringing 
secluded  corners  into  communication  with  the  great 
world.  Trade  grew  and  commerce  made  rapid  strides  ; 
the  art  of  agriculture  was  encouraged ;  better  houses 
were  built ;  towns  began  to  purify  their  streets  and  to 
confine  the  pigs  in  styes  and  the  fowl  to  the  back  lanes ; 
the  taste  for  clean  linen  extended  from  the  abbey  to  the 
cottage,  and  people  discovered  more  ways  of  making  ^ 
living  than  by  stealing  their  neighbors'  cattle  or  corn  or 


378  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

by  the  forages  and  the  ravages  of  war.  Now,  too, 
architecture  took  its  most  glorious  forms,  passing  from 
the  Early  English  to  the  Decorated  and  hence  to  the 
Perpendicular  styles.  Never  since  those  days  has  the 
art  of  building  achieved  such  splendid  triumphs ;  where 
it  has  been  original  it  has  failed,  and  where  it  has  suc- 
ceeded it  has  been  only  by  a  close  imitation  of  the  old 
work.  Possibly  there  are  no  more  secrets  to  discover 
and  no  more  laurels  to  win :  the  lofty,  graceful  arch  of 
the  forest  avenue  has  been  carried  into  the  cathedral 
nave,  and  the  enclosing  firmament  of  heaven  into  the 
wide  and  mighty  dome.  It  is  not  to  be  supposed  that 
the  sense  of  magnificence  or  the  spirit  of  symbolism, 
any  more  than  the  revival  of  letters  or  the  increased 
social  comforts,  was  felt  by  all  classes  in  the  community. 
Some  were  for  long  untouched  by  learning  or  by  art, 
but  the  tide-movement  was  in  the  ocean,  rushing  in 
swift  force  here  and  there  and  certain  not  to  rest  until 
every  part  of  the  vast  waters  responded  and  every 
wavelet  bended  to  the  flow. 

Notwithstanding  these  better  and  brighter  prospects, 
the  political  and  social  life  of  England  for  most  of  this 
period  was  extremely  unhappy.  Rebellion  and  civil  war 
involved  the  country  in  much  misery.  The  feud  be- 
tween the  classes  had  long  been  smouldering,  kept 
down  by  foreign  wars  and  by  parliamentary  measures, 
but,  stirred  by  songs  in  coarse  plain  language  and  tell- 
ing rhyme  and  fed  by  the  continuance  of  unrelieved 
oppression  and  cruel  injustice,  the  storm  at  last  burst 
out.  In  the  revolt  of  the  peasants,  though  the  rising 
was  suppressed  with  an  iron  hand,  the  death-blow  was 
struck  at  the  old  system  of  villeinage.     The  year  1 38 1 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION.  379 

revealed  the  power  of  the  common  people ;  the  year 
1399  showed  the  strength  of  the  Parliament  in  deposing 
one  king  and  in  electing  another.  Then  came  the  long 
struggle  between  Yorkist  and  Lancastrian.  Deep  and 
swift  ran  the  river  of  blood  ;  before  the  Red  and  White 
Roses  were  united  by  Henry  of  Richmond  the  baronage 
of  England  was  almost  extirpated  and  a  hundred  thou- 
sand men  were  slain.  In  1485,  when  the  crown  was 
placed  upon  the  brow  of  the  first  of  the  Tudors,  the 
new  king  beheld  a  realm  in  ruins.  Hamlets  and  villages 
had  disappeared  ;  commerce  was  destroyed ;  confidence, 
industry  and  virtue  were  overthrown ;  and  men  were 
ready  for  despotism  or  death,  so  that  they  might  have 
peace.  For  years  the  law  had  been  powerless  to  restrain 
crime.  The  roads  swarmed  with  robbers ;  houses  were 
burnt  and  men  and  women  kidnapped  by  bands  of 
marauders  who  wandered  unrestrained  through  the 
country.  Once  in  a  while  came  a  short  breathing-time. 
Hope  dawned  with  the  chivalric  Henry  V.,  and  again 
with  the  absolute  Edward  IV.  But  the  tempest  renewed 
itself  fiercer  than  ever. 

Other  afflictions  were  also  added.  Again  and  again 
came  famine — so  great  that  at  times  even  the  wealthy 
were  brought  to  dire  distress.  Had  it  not  been  for  the 
custom  of  preserving  food  for  many  months'  consump- 
tion, the  mass  of  the  people  must  have  perished.  Com- 
plaints are  common  of  stormy  seasons,  floods,  exorbitant 
taxation,  the  inability  of  the  farmers  to  buy  seed,  and,  in 
some  parts,  of  the  ravages  of  rabbits.  In  the  famine  of 
13 15  the  people  were  reduced  to  such  straits  as  to 
devour  beasts  of  burden,  domestic  pets  and  vermin. 
Pestilence  also  became  virulent.     The   first  appearance 


380  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

of  the  Black  Death  was  in  1349,  and  in  two  years'  time 
it  swept  off  nearly  one-half  the  inhabitants  of  the  land. 
By  it  whole  villages  were  depopulated ;  harvests  rotted 
on  the  ground  for  want  of  reapers  and  farms  went  to 
ruin  for  want  of  laborers ;  the  clergy  were  so  reduced 
that  many  parishes  were  entirely  without  ministrations  ; 
in  some  monasteries  every  member  died,  and  it  seemed  as 
if  all  things  were  at  an  end.  Twenty  years  later  the  Black 
Death  returned,  again  in  1368,  and  twice  again  before 
the  close  of  the  century.  Mufrain  also  visited  the  cattle, 
and  in  the  wholesale  destruction  of  the  flocks  the  coun-« 
try  lost  its  staple  and  its  principal  source  of  revenue. 
In  the  next  century  the  plague  broke  out  some  twenty 
times.  What  wonder  if  the  remnant,  wearied  with  so 
many  and  so  grievous  evils,  became  despondent  and 
desperate  ?  It  is  to  the  glory  of  the  first  two  Tudor 
sovereigns  that  by  their  energy,  will  and  wisdom  the 
country  was  delivered  from  its  pitiful  condition  and 
made  once  more  happy  and  prosperous. 

But  even  tribulation,  working  with  thinking  and  earn- 
est men,  has  a  developing,  educating  influence.  It  at 
least  created  a  seriousness  of  deportment.  Much  im- 
morality, indeed,  abounded  :  the  times  were  not  virtuous, 
and,  as  we  shall  see  later,  the  classes  and  the  orders 
which  should  have  wrought  for  righteousness  were  large- 
ly and  deeply  touched  with  evil.  Still,  the  instances  of 
sterling  piety  are  not  uncommon.  It  is  delightful  to 
call  to  mind  the  scene  at  the  gates  of  the  abbey  of 
Tewkesbury,  May  4,  1474.  The  Yorkists  would  have 
continued  their  butchery  of  the  defeated  Lancastrians 
within  the  sacred  precincts,  but  the  abbot  came  forth 
and  stood  between  the  fugitives  and  the  pursuers,  like 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION.  38 1 

Aaron  between  the  dead  and  the  living,  and  forbade 
the  shedding  of  further  blood.  His  commands  were 
obeyed.  In  the  same  abbey,  in  1438,  was  buried  Isa- 
bella, countess  of  Warwick;  when,  in  1875,  her  grave 
was  opened,  on  the  side  of  the  slab  toward  her  face,  as 
though  to  meet  her  gaze  on  the  awakening-day,  was 
found  the  simple  prayer,  "  Mercy,  Lord  Jesus !"  Nor 
upon  tombs  were  such  pious  ejaculations  as  the  follow- 
ing uncommon :  ycsus,  amor  meus^  vita  mea,  justorum 
Icetitia  ("Jesus,  my  love,  my  life,  joy  of  the  just"); 
and  Ne  elongeris  a  me,  Dens  meus  ("  Be  not  far  frorn 
me,  O  my  God  ").  Even  if  formal,  they  witness  to  a 
recognition  of  sacred  things. 

Perhaps  the  story  of  John  Paston's  funeral  may  illus- 
trate the  piety,  extravagance  and  weakness  of  the  age. 
He  was  a  Norfolkshireman,  a  lawyer,  shrewd,  acquis- 
itive, humorless  and  ambitious.  Partly  by  inheritance 
and  marriage  and  partly  by  the  energy  of  his  business 
habits  and  thorough  knowledge  of  the  world  he  had 
obtained  considerable  property  and  an  honorable  rank 
among  the  local  gentry.  His  home  was  in  a  village 
bearing  the  sanie  name  as  himself,  in  a  remote  corner 
of  the  county,  about  twenty  miles  to  the  north  of  Nor- 
wich and  not  far  from  the  low  sandy  shore  of  the  North 
Sea.  A  mile  from  Paston  was  Bromholm  Priory,  a  small 
Cluniac  house,  but  in  fame  second  only  to  Walsingham, 
renowned  both  for  its  discipline  and  for  its  rood  made 
out  of  the  wood  of  the  true  cross.  The  proximity  of 
the  two  places  gave  the  Paston  family  and  the  monks  a 
lively  interest  in  each  other ;  nor  was  the  interest  other 
than  honest  and  friendly.  John  Paston  attended  the 
priory  services  and  replenished  the  priory  coffers;  the 


382  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

brethren  looked  upon  him  as  their  patron  and  supported 
him  in  all  his  troubles.  When  he  died,  the  funeral  rites 
were  observed,  and  the  body  was  deposited  within  their 
walls.  The  end  came  in  London,  May  21,  1466,  and  it 
was  determined  to  give  to  his  funeral  that  magnificence 
which  his  wealth  and  position  justified,  but  which  during 
his  life  he  seems  to  have  despised.  A  number  of  retain- 
ers, a  priest,  some  servants  and  twelve  poor  men  bearing 
torches  accompanied  the  corpse  from  London  to  the 
distant  country-place.  The  procession  was  a  memor- 
able one.  Churches  and  abbeys  on  the  way  vied  with' 
one  another  in  their  offering  of  respect.  The  notes  of 
one  tolling  bell  no  sooner  ceased  than  the  sad  burden 
was  taken  up  by  another,  while  at  each  resting-place 
solemn  masses  were  offered  for  the  repose  of  the  soul 
of  the  departed.  When  Norwich  was  reached,  the  ful- 
ness of  honor  was  shown.  The  Pastons  had  been  lib- 
eral patrons  to  the  churches  there ;  many  of  the  clergy 
had  experienced  their  hospitality,  and  once  when  John 
was  sick  his  mother  gave  to  Walsingham  his  weight  in 
an  image  of  wax,  and  to  each  of  the  houses  of  friars  in 
the  city  a  noble.  To  St.  Peter's  church,  the  advowson 
of  which  belonged  to  the  family,  the  body,  placed  in  a 
sumptuous  hearse  and  followed  by  a  long  procession, 
was  taken.  Grand  services  were  then  held.  The  four 
orders  of  friars  were  there,  and  to  sing  the  solemn  dirge 
thirty-nine  children  in  surplices,  twenty-six  clerks  and 
thirty-eight  priests.  Alms,  were  given  lavishly ;  and 
when  all  was  over,  gifts  and  fees  were  made  with  a 
liberal  hand.  Among  the  expenses  were  wine  for  the 
singers,  wax  for  the  candles  and  broadcloth  for  the 
guests. 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION.  383 

Two  days  later  the  bearers  of  the  dead  beheld  the 
walls  of  Bromholm.  Within-  the  priory  church,  hung 
with  black  drapery  and  dimly  lighted  with  tapers,  the 
body  rested  from  its  long  journey.  Through  the  long 
night  and  in  silence  the  brethren  watched  beside  the 
bier;  then,  ere  the  first  sun-rays  touched  the  painted 
windows,  the  mass  was  sung  and  prayers  were  said  that 
he  who  now  lay  before  the  sanctuary  might  be  vouchsafed 
a  speedy  entrance  into  Paradise.  And  when  came  the 
time  for  interment,  solemnity  and  grandeur  appeared 
to  surpass  themselves.  Parsons,  monks  and  friars  were 
there  in  flocks,  friends  and  acquaintances  thronged  from 
far  and  near,  and  by  the  bier  were  many  surpliced  priests 
and  singers.  To  the  requiem,  within  the  assembled  mul- 
titude, without  the  breaking  waves  upon  the  beach,  made 
response.  The  church  was  lighted  with  flaming  torches, 
weird  and  lurid ;  indeed,  the  smoke  grew  so  dense  that 
panes  of  glass  had  to  be  taken  out  of  the  windows. 
Thus  amid  pomp  and  ceremony  the  funeral  rites  ended, 
and  soon  the  deep-tolling  bell  proclaimed  that  the  dead 
man  was  lying  in  his  grave. 

This  done,  the  company  went  to  dinner  in  the  great 
hall.  Provisions  for  three  or  four  days  had  been  gath- 
ered in  enormous  quantities ;  the  guests  must  have  been 
numbered  by  hundreds.  Then  came  the  gifts,  doles  and 
fees,  everybody  receiving  something  substantial  by  which 
to  remember  the  deceased.  A  man  was  engaged  to  shoe 
the  horses,  and  another  to  sljave  the  monks.  Lodgings 
were  provided  for  all.  Finally,  respect,  sympathy  and 
feasting  exhausted,  the  visitors  went  their  ways;  the 
family  retired  to  Paston,  and  the  brethren  were  left  to 
their  old  dreamy  life.     But  the  heavy  expenses  so  crip- 


384  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

pled  the  estate  that  many  a  year  passed  before  the  tomb 
was  finished.  A  torn  and  rotten  cloth  for  long  lay  over  the 
grave,  and  as  late  as  1475  peopl^  spoke  of  the  great  shame 
that  no  stone  had  been  erected.  Among  the  first  prio- 
ries dissolved  by  Henry  VIII.  was  Bromholm  ;  only  a  few 
walls  now  remain.  The  breaking  waves  chant  the  same 
song  as  of  old,  but  the  masses  and  the  monks  have  gone, 
the  candles  and  the  incense  burn  no  more,  and  amid  the 
dead  grandeur,  in  quiet  and  peace,  rests  all  that  is  left 
of  John  Paston. 

There  is  little  doubt  that  this  page  from  the  history 
of  an  ordinary  well-to-do  family  fairly  expresses  the 
spirit  of  the  times.  The  country  was  poor,  but  the  love 
of  ostentation  and  of  pomp  led  to  a  ruinous  extrava- 
gance. To  meet  the  cost  of  such  a  funeral  as  that  just 
described,  the  friends  would  have  to  suffer  much  priva- 
tion and  tenants  would  have  to  be  pressed  to  the  utmost 
farthing.  Yet  in  its  folly  the  age  demanded  such  sacri- 
fices. Famine,  pestilence  and  war  for  the  living ;  for  the 
dead  a  parade  and  a  waste  both  useless  and  satirical ! 
And  yet,  again,  that  very  lavishness  indicated  an  affec- 
tion for  the  deceased  and  a  faith  in  the  efficacy  of  ser- 
vices for  his  soul's  health.  It  was  not  wholly  created  by 
the  goadings  of  rivalry;  only,  in  an  age  of  awakening 
thought  and  of  oppressive  affliction,  the  question  of 
utility  was  sure  to  arise  and  the  weariness  certain  to 
make  itself  felt. 

England  was  only  a  microcosm  of  Europe ;  the  Con- 
tinent was  shrouded  in  the  like  gloom.  Kings  made 
war  and  peoples  rebelled ;  plague  and  famine  were  com- 
mon, and  for  long  it  seemed  as  if  learning  and  arts  had 
revived  only  to  make  the  way  easy  for  man  to  rid  the 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION  385 

world  of  its  civilization  and  then  to  put  an  end  to  him- 
self. The  papacy  itself  became  its  own  destroyer.  For 
sixty  years  the  popes  reigned  at  Avignon ;  then,  from 
1378  to  1447,  schism  gave  Christendom  at  the  same 
time  two,  and  sometimes  three,  popes ;  and  in  John 
XXIII.  and  Alexander  VI.  appeared  the  monstrosity 
of  wickedness. 

But  grace  and  virtue  wrought  together  for  better 
things.  Notwithstanding  the  evils,  here  and  there 
noble  spirits  were  working  and  preparing  the  way  for 
reformation. 

Thomas  a  Kempis  was  born  of  poor,  hardworking 
parents  at  Kempen,  forty  miles  north  of  Cologne,  in 
1379.  He  and  his  elder  brother  were  sent  to  school 
at  Deventer,  where  the  influence  of  the  scholarly  and 
mystical  Gerhard  Groot  was  very  great.  Here  was  a 
society  of  devout  men,  organized  by  Groot  and  called 
"  The  Brethren  of  the  Common  Life."  They,  in  their 
reaction  from  scholasticism,  with  such  men  as  Bernard 
of  Clairvaux,  Hugo  and  Richard  of  St.  Victor,  Henry 
Eckhart  and  John  Ruysbroeck,  held  that  the  great  end 
to  be  desired  and  pursued  was  oneness  with  God,  and 
that  not  so  much  through  the  Church,  sacraments  or 
Christian  fellowship  as  by  introspection,  meditation  and 
intuition.  Nor  was  this  "  oneness  with  God "  merely 
congeniality  with  God  or  delight  and  assurance  in  his 
attributes,  but  rather  a  state  in  which  all  thought  and 
activity  is  suspended  and  thf  soul  passes  out  of  itself — 
an  ecstasy — and  is  lost  in  God.  Perfect  rest  was  thereby 
attained,  but  religion  became  a  matter  of  feeling,  and 
therefore  inexplicable.  The  result  was  twofold — many 
great  and  noble  souls  who  became  the  precursors  of  a 

25  .  ...  ^     . 


386  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

genuine  reformation,  and  many  weak  and  ruined  minds 
which,  casting  aside  all  external  authority  and  depend- 
ing only  upon  individual  revelations,  fell  into  grievous 
excesses.  But  so  far,  at  Deventer,  only  the  good  was 
seen,  and  the  charm  of  that  quiet,  holy  life  so  affected 
Kempis  that  in  time  he  became  a  member  of  the  brother- 
hood. His  brother  gained  the  office  of  prior  in  the  Au- 
gustinian  convent  of  Mount  St.  Agnes  near  Zwolle,  in 
Holland.  The  Austin  friars  not  only  were  in  doctrine 
rivals  of  the  Dominicans,  but  also  were  suspected  of  re- 
forming tendencies.  They  held  much  of  the  mysticism 
of  the  Brethren  of  the  Common  Life,  lived  singularly 
pious  and  exact  lives,  and,  though  not  outwardly  in 
nonconformity  with  ecclesiastical  Christendom,  were 
more  prone  to  depend  upon  the  Scriptures  than  upon 
the  Church  and  to  care  more  for  subjective  than  for 
objective  religion.  To  his  brother's  house  Thomas 
went  in  the  year  1399.  Eight  years  later  he  took  the 
vows  of  the  brotherhood;  in  141 3  he  was  ordained 
priest,  and  in  1425  he  became  sub-prior.  The  sweet- 
ness and  the  purity  of  his  character,  his  calm  faith  and 
his  unostentatious  piety,  made  him  beloved  by  all.  He 
was  quiet,  happy  and  studious,  little  in  stature,  fresh- 
colored,  with  soft-brown  eyes  and  seemingly  unaffected 
by  the  conflicts  of  his  age.  So  lacking  in  curiosity 
was  he  that  he  avoided  the  throng  of  gossippers  who 
in  the  evening  brought  to  the  gates  of  the  convent  the 
news  of  the  outside  world.  His  sermons  were  persua- 
sive and  distinguished  by  an  endearing  spirituality.  He 
wrote  some  hymns,  and  was  also  the  author  or  editor  of 
many  tracts  on  the  monastic  life.  His  tranquil  and  un- 
eventful career  came  to  an  end  in  1471,  when  his  years 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION.  387 

numbered  ninety-one,  and,  had  it  not  been  for  the  hnita- 
tio  CJinsti,  his  name  would  long  since  have  perished. 

Whether  the  author  of  that  wonderful  book  or  not,  it 
has  given  Kempis  renown  and  immortality.  The  work 
has  been  ascribed  to  John  Gerson,  in  1392  doctor  of  the 
Sorbonne  and  chancellor  of  the  University  of  Paris,  an 
able  preacher  against  the  sins  of  the  times,  by  some  re- 
garded as  a  Reformer  and  by  others  as  a  trimmer.  He 
was  a  mystic  and  once  taught  a  school  of  boys  and  girls 
in  Lyons.  The  only  fee  he  exacted  of  his  pupils  was 
their  promise  daily  to  pray,  "  Lord,  have  mercy  on  thy 
poor  servant  Gerson."  Having  both  urged  the  pope  to 
inaugurate  a  reformation  of  manners  and  assisted  in  the 
condemnation  of  John  Huss  and  of  Jerome  of  Prague, 
in  1429  he  died.  Few,  however,  now  suppose  him  to 
have  written  the  Imitation :  that  glory  is  generally  as- 
cribed to  the  Austin  friar.  It  certainly  expresses  a  life 
such  as  Thomas  a  Kempis  lived  and  accords  with  the 
teachings  of  the  fraternity  to  which  he  belonged.  Its 
catholicity  is  shown  in  the  favor  which  it  has  received 
from  all  kinds  of  Christians ;  its  vitality,  in  its  contin- 
ued and  increasing  popularity.  The  conception  of  the 
Church  set  forth  is  the  spiritual  ideal  held  by  such  as 
Anselm  and  Bernard,  and  not  that  of  a  political  king- 
dom, as  taught  by  St.  Augustine  and  Hildebrand.  No- 
where else  appears  in  so  clear  a  light  the  heart-religion 
of  Latin  Christianity — its  noble  and  wonderful  spiritual- 
ity, freed  from  the  accretions  of  puerility,  tradition  and 
superstition.  There  are  high  biblical  and  extreme  sac- 
ramental tendencies,  both,  however,  tempered  with  a 
devout,  joyful  exaltation  of  Christ.  The  apparent  sel- 
fishness  with    which    it  has  been  charged  is  a  conse- 


3 38  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

quence  of  its  mysticism — a  weakness,  one  may  say,  of 
a  system  which  sought  to  purify  more  the  individual 
soul  than  the  world  outside.  The  absence  of  asceticism 
is  remarkable.  The  imitation  suggested  is  not  that  of 
suffering,  directing  attention  to  Christ's  Passion  and 
therefore  mortifying  the  body,  but  that  of  concentrat- 
ing the  attention  upon  the  Incarnation,  the  grace  and 
charm  of  the  Lord  Jesus,  and  by  thought  being  lifted 
up  into  his  life.  "  Evangelical  poverty  "  is  not  urged  : 
its  failure  was  too  evident;  nor  were  legends  recom- 
mended or  curious  study  approved.  Such  a  work,  full 
of  golden  lines,  brilliant  with  gems  of  holiest  thought, 
pure  as  the  light  which  falls  upon  the  absorbed  and 
worshipping  soul  and  rich  in  encouragement,  consola- 
tion and  guidance,  must  have  done  much  in  preparing 
the  way  for  better  days.  On  its  pages  fall  the  roseate 
sunbeams  of  morning — the  morning  both  of  the  Ref- 
ormation and  of  the  Day  of  Righteousness. 

The  same  spirit  which  so  kindly  appears  in  this  book 
flashes  out  in  meteoric  splendor  in  Girolamo  Savonarola. 
He  was  born  at  Ferrara  in  1452,  and  was  early  touched 
with  a  consciousness  of  the  evil  of  the  times.  "  I  could 
not  endure,"  he  says,  "  the  enormous  wickedness  of  the 
blinded  people  of  Italy  ;  and  the  more  so  because  I  saw 
everywhere  virtue  despised  and  vice  honored.  A  greater 
sorrow  I  could  not  have  in  this  world."  In  1475  he  en- 
tered the  Dominican  convent  at  Bologna.  As  he  pre- 
pared for  the  work  of  a  preacher  his  distress  and  his  zeal 
grew  more  intense.  When  the  day  came  for  him  to  face 
the  people,  his  heart  was  filled  to  bursting  with  Elijah- 
like indignation  and  with  Paul-like  enthusiasm.  At  first 
few  cared  to  hear  him:  his  accent  was   harsh  and  his 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION.  3.S9 

periods  were  ill-formed ;  but  in  time  even  Florence  was 
moved  by  the  startling  eloquence  and  the  fierce  denun- 
ciations of  a  man  whose  soul  was  on  fire.  The  people 
grew  pale  as  he  pointed  out  to  them  the  woe  of  sin.  He 
spared  none — not  even  the  pope.  When  excommuni- 
cated by  His  Holiness,  he  retorted  and  excommunicated 
him.  Patriotic  and  saintly,  fearless  and  able,  Florence 
began  to  love  him.  For  a  while  his  bidding  was  done ; 
there  was  the  promise  of  better  things.  Then,  as  sud- 
denly as  he  had  burst  upon  the  scene,  the  end  came. 
His  enemies  strengthened  themselves ;  they  would  none 
of  his  reforms.  In  1498,  forsaken  by  the  multitudes 
who  had  once  hanged  upon  his  lips,  he  was  seized, 
strangled  and  burnt  in  the  public  square  of  Florence, 
and  his  ashes  were  throw^n  into  the  Arno.  Before  his 
death  he  was  degraded  from  his  priestly  office  and  the 
bishop  declared  him  separated  from  the  Church,  mil- 
itant and  triumphant.  Savonarola  calmly  replied,  "  From 
the  Church  militant — yes;  but  from  the  Church  trium- 
phant— no :  that  is  not  yours  to  do." 

Scarcely  less  splendid  was  John  Huss.  Born  of  well- 
to-do  but  humble  parentage  at  Hussinecz,  in  Bohemia, 
about  the  year  1369,  he  was  educated  at  Prague,  and 
proceeded  to  various  degrees  and  ranks  until  in  1402  he 
was  made  rector  of  the  university.  In  1391  a  chapel 
had  been  built  and  endowed  by  some  citizens  of  Prague 
for  the  purpose  of  supplying  the  people  with  good  plain 
preaching  in  their  common  tongue;  this  chapel  in  1402 
was  placed  in  the  care  of  Huss.  Immediate  contact 
with  the  spiritual  and  the  intellectual  wants  of  the  masses 
and  earnest  and  independent  study  of  the  sacred  Scrip- 
tures opened  his  mind  to  the  influence  of  John  Wick- 


390  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

liffe's  writings.  His  growing  sympathy  with  the  new 
school  of  thought  did  not  for  some  time  bring  him  into 
antagonism  with  the  authorities  of  the  Church  ;  even  in 
1405,  when  he  bitterly  declaimed  against  the  abuses  of 
the  clergy,  warning  people  of  forged  miracles  and  eccle- 
siastical greed  and  urging  them  to  seek  Christ  not  in 
signs  and  wonders,  but  in  his  enduring  word,  he  had 
the  full  sanction  of  his  superior.  But  his  boldness  and 
his  knowledge  waxed  greater;  he  drew  nearer  to  the 
English  Reformer,  and  uttered  inflammatory  things 
against  the  Church  herself  In  1409  the  pope  forbade 
him  preaching ;  and  when  the  city  of  Prague  supported 
him  in  his  defiant  disregard  of  the  papal  edict,  the  place 
was  laid  under  an  interdict.  The  struggle  thus  begun 
went  on,  till  in  141 3  was  held  the  Council  of  Constance. 
To  this  council  John  Huss  was  summoned,  and,  having 
obtained  a  pledge  of  safety  from  the  emperor  Sigismund, 
he  ventured  into  the  midst  of  his  angry  opponents.  He 
was  arrested  within  three  weeks  of  his  arrival,  November 
28,  and  an  end  would  soon  have  been  reached  had  not 
the  council  the  greater  work  before  it  of  trying  and  de- 
posing the  notoriously  wicked  John  XXHI.  Under 
the  new  pope  an  examination  was  held,  certain  charges 
were  made  showing  the  radical  and  dangerous  opinions 
of  Huss  and  his  sympathy  with  Wickliffe,  whose  teach- 
ings had  already  been  condemned,  and  at  last,  July  6, 
141 5,  he  was  sentenced  to  death.  In  vain  did  the  "  pale 
thin  man  in  mean  attire"  remind  his  judges  of  the  pro- 
tection of  the  imperial  safe-conduct ;  Sigismund  blushed 
deeply  and  said  nothing.  The  degradation  followed. 
"  We  commit  thy  body  to  the  secular  arm,"  said  a 
bishop,  "  and  thy  soul  to  the  devil." — "  And  I,"  replied 


BEGIN.VINGS   OF  REFORMATION.  39 1 

Huss,  '*  commit  it  to  my  most  merciful  Lord,  Jesus 
Christ."  When  bound  to  the  stake,  he  was  urged  to 
recant,  but  he  exclaimed,  "  God  is  my  witness  that  I 
have  never  taught  or  preached  that  which  false  witnesses 
have  testified  against  me.  He  knows  that  the  great  ob- 
ject of  all  my  preaching  and  writing  was  to  convert  men 
from  sin.  In  the  truth  of  that  gospel  which  hitherto  I 
have  written,  taught  and  preached  I  now  joyfully  die." 
Seeing  a  peasant  carrying  a  fagot  to  add  to  his  funeral- 
pile,  he  said  with  a  smile,  in  words  borrowed  from  St. 
Jerome,  *'  Oh,  holy  simplicity  !"  "  Huss  "  is  Bohemian 
for  "  goose ;"  hence  the  martyr  is  said  to  have  prophe- 
sied that  in  place  of  one  goose  tame  and  weak  of  wing 
God  would  before  long  send  falcons  and  eagles.  In  the 
stifling  smoke  and  the  kindling  flame  his  spirit  passed 
away — his  last  words,  *'  Kyrie  Eleison."  When  all  was 
over,  the  smouldering  ashes,  the  scorched  remnants  of 
his  clothes,  and  even  the  soil  on  which  he  had  been 
burned,  were  carefully  gathered  and  thrown  into  the 
Rhine. 

Huss  was  noted  for  purity  of  life,  pleasing  manner 
and  strong  convictions.  His  views  were  pronounced, 
but  neither  so  decided  as  Wicklifle's  nor  so  radical  as 
Luther's.  In  sickness  and  poverty  he  lived  ;  in  courage, 
fortitude  and  hope  he  died ;  and  he  is  remembered  as 
one  of  the  bravest  martyrs  and  the  most  intrepid  re- 
formers in  the  band  of  heroes  who  have  led  the  world  on 
to  light  and  to  freedom. 

The  friend  of  Huss  was  the  enthusiastic  and  head- 
strong Jerome  of  Prague,  born  somewhere  between  1360 
and  1370  in  the  city  whence  he  derives  his  surname.  He 
early  imbibed  the   opinions  of  Huss   and  of  Wicklifle 


392  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

and  preached  the  new  doctrines  with  vigor,  but  he  was 
weak  and  uncertain,  and  his  zeal  expended  its  force  in 
bursts  of  furious,  torrent-like  vehemence.  When  the 
Council  of  Constance  met,  he  was  warned  not  to  venture 
thither.  He  went,  fled,  was  brought  back,  recanted, 
and  was  condemned  to  die.  Then,  before  he  was  ex- 
ecuted, he  solemnly  revoked  his  recantation.  "  Of  all 
the  sins,"  said  he  to  the  council,  "  that  I  have  committed 
since  my  youth,  none  weigh  so  heavily  on  my  mind  and 
cause  me  such  keen  remorse  as  that  which  I  committed 
in  this  evil  place  when  I  approved  of  the  iniquitous 
sentence  given  against  Wickliffe  and  against  the  holy 
martyr  John  Huss,  my  master  and  friend."  On  May 
30,  1 4 16,  he  was  taken  to  death.  His  heroic,  ardent 
soul  seemed  to  have  lost  all  timidity.  "  Light  the  fire  !" 
he  cried  to  the  executioner.  "Had  I  the  least  fear,  I 
should  not  be  standing  in  this  place."  His  ashes  also 
were  thrown  into  the  Rhine ;  his  name  has  an  honorable, 
if  not  an  exalted,  position  in  the  roll  of  Reformers. 

The  death  of  these  two  Bohemian  martyrs  lighted 
up  the  long  and  furious  war  known  as  "  the  Hussite." 
His  countrymen  were  indignant  when  they  heard  of 
the  treatment  John  Huss  had  received  at  Constance.  A 
diet  was  held  at  Prague,  and  a  document  in  which  were 
warmly  upheld  the  personal  character  of  the  Reformer 
and  the  freedom  of  Bohemia  and  Moravia  from  heresy 
was  formulated  and  signed  by  four  hundred  and  fifty- 
two  magnates.  In  1420  war  broke  out  between  the 
friends  and  the  opponents  of  this  measure,  continuing 
for  eleven  years.  The  Hussites  themselves  divided  into 
two  sects — the  Calixtines,  who  insisted  upon  receiving 
holy  communion  under  both  species,  regarding  the  chalice 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION.  393 

as  a  sign  of  the  equality  of  all,  and  who  were  willing 
to  remain  in  connection  with  Rome ;  and  the  Taborites, 
who  refused  all  reconciliation  and  fought  till  their  cause 
was  utterly  lost.  In  both  divisions  were  some  quiet 
spirits  who  wished  to  heal  the  differences  and  to  remain 
as  brethren.  In  1457  these  formed  a  community  at 
Kunewald,  near  Senftenberg,  and  out  of  this  commu- 
nity grew  the  society  of  Moravians,  or  Bohemian  Breth- 
ren— the  honored  and  beloved  Unitas  Fratrum.  From 
the  VValdenses  of  Austria  one  of  their  number  received 
episcopal  consecration.  Their  success  as  missionaries 
and  as  the  inheritors  and  guardians  of  a  pure  faith  has 
given  them  the  reverence  and  the  affection  of  Christen- 
dom ;  and  so  long  as  the  world  admires  simplicity, 
devotion,  courage  and  fortitude,  so  long  will  these 
spiritual  descendants  of  John  Huss  be  regarded  with, 
delight. 

Different  in  genius  and  in  work,  but  touched  with  the. 
same  spirit,  was  William  Langley,  or  Langland,  the 
author  of  Piers  the  Plowman.  He  was  born  about  1332, 
probably  at  Cleobury  Mortimer,  in  Worcestershire,  and 
seems  to  have  been  brought  up  amid  much  poverty. 
His  livelihood  was  made  by  singing  psalms  for  the  good 
of  men's  souls ;  hence  the  gloom  which  appears  ever  to 
rest  upon  him.  He  took  minor  orders,  but  never  rose 
in  the  Church.  In  1362  he  wrote  the  famous  poem  by 
which  he  has  been  remembered.  Here,  in  vivid — possi- 
bly in  exaggerated — form  are  displayed  the  sins  and  the 
woes  of  the  age,  not  as  seen  by  the  genial  and  courtly 
Chaucer,  but  by  a  rude,  homely,  common-sense  peasant. 
The  poet  has  nothing  to  do  with  theological  errors :  his 
powers  are  given  to  the  unveiling  of  the  moral  corrup- 


394  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

tion  of  England.  A  keen  insight  into  motives  and 
deeds,  a  withering  satire,  sharp  and  unsparing  irony, 
plain,  blunt  speech,  and,  withal,  a  love  of  nature  and  a 
gentle  appreciation  of  religion  and  manhood,  are  his 
weapons.  The  friars  come  in  for  his  fiercest,  most 
furnace-like  wrath.  He  hurls  against  them  the  dead- 
liest invectives  genius  and  indignation  can  devise.  Their 
idleness,  dissoluteness,  covetousness,  hypocrisy,  hardness 
of  heart,  pitilessness  to  the  poor,  extravagance  and  as- 
sumptions excite  his  most  terrible  scorn  and  reproach. 
In  his  extrem<i  earnestness  he  shows  the  sad  condition 
of  the  peasant  and  neglected  classes,  the  hunger,  injust- 
ice and  oppression  they  suffer,  and  the  hopelessness  of 
their  life.  Among  the  causes  of  this  and  kindred  evils 
he  places  the  wealth  of  the  clergy.  The  gift  of  Con- 
stantine  was  the  doom  of  true  religion  :  the  pope  lives 
but  to  levy  the  wealth  of  the  world  that  he  may  slay 
mankind.  He  traces  out  the  effects  of  sin  in  all  their 
ghastliness  and  shame,  and  with  scarcely  less  vigor 
he  displays  political  evils.  The  sternness  of  the  poem 
is  here  and  there  relieved  with  gentle  touches — the 
burnished  gold  and  the  flowing  crimson  on  the  edge  of 
black  evening-clouds.  Naught  can  be  sweeter  than  the 
scene  on  the  May  morning  amid  the  Malvern  Hills 
when  the  poet  rested  himself  by  the  merrily-sounding 
waters  of  a  bourne ;  naught  can  be  more  delightful  than 
the  paean  with  which  is  announced  the  final  triumph  of 
light  over  darkness,  of  life  over  death  and  of  Christ 
over  Satan ;  but,  these  passages  apart,  the  work  gives  a 
fearful  picture  of  the  times.  The  poet  sees  plainly  the 
need ;  woe  and  ruin  are  coming  on  toward  the  defence- 
less society  as  flow  the  storm-urged  waves  of  a  rising 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION.  395 

tide  on  a  low  sand-shore.  Without  reformation  there 
is  no  hope.  The  night  is  dark,  starless,  tempestuous ; 
unless  the  morning  break  apace,  the  end  must  be  the 
crash  and  the  crush  of  death.  A  prophet  such  as 
William  Langley  does  not  speak  in  vain.  His  message 
has  no  charm  such  as  that  in  the  pleasant  lines  of  the 
CanterbiLiy  Tales,  no  tender  fancies  over  which  the 
imagination  loves  to  linger ;  it  is  fraught  with  arrows 
of  conviction  and  utters  things  men  care  least  to  hear. 
This  writer  died  about  1 400,  but  his  work  must  have 
done  much  toward  reformation. 

The  year  after  William  Langley's  death  witnessed  the 
first  shedding  of  English  martyr-blood.  Heretics  had 
been  on  the  Continent  consigned  to  the  flames  for  the 
past  two  hundred  years,  but  not  till  140 1  did  England 
stain  her  statute-book  with  a  law  of  persecution.  Then 
William  Sawtrey,  a  parish  priest  of  St.  Osith's,  in  Lon- 
don, was  accused  of  holding  erroneous  doctrines.  He 
had  maintained  that  Christians  ought  to  worship,  not 
the  cross,  but  Him  who  died  thereon ;  that  the  divine 
law  allowed  not  the  worship  either  of  men  or  of  angels ; 
that  a  man  had  better  distribute  the  expense  of  his 
journey  to  the  poor  at  home  than  go  on  a  pilgrimage  ; 
and  that  a  priest  was  more  bound  to  preach  to  the  peo- 
ple than  to  say  the  hours  of  prayer.  Upon  examination 
he  also  denied  transubstantiation.  Some  time  before 
this  he  had  recanted,  but  as  soon  as  conscience  got  the 
better  of  his  fear  he  set  forth  his  opinions  more  vigor- 
ously than  ever.  The  convocation  pronounced  him  a 
relapsed  heretic,  degraded  him  and  handed  him  over  to 
the  secular  power.  Others  there  were  in  England  who 
held  the  same  views,  but  it  was  judged  expedient  to 


396  j^EADmcs  IN-  CHURCH  nisroR  v. 

make  an  example;  and  on  the  twenty-sixth  day  of 
February,  140 1,  WiUiam  Sawtrey  perished  in  the  flames 
at  Smithfield.  He  was  not  great,  though  probably  of 
considerable  influence  in  his  day ;  but  the  proto-martyr 
in  the  Anglican  struggle  toward  righteousness  is  not 
without  glory. 

No  body  of  men  is  wholly  bad,  and,  while  careless 
and  worldly  prelates  were  not  uncommon,  there  were 
many  bishops  whose  lives  exemplified  the  nobler  and  the 
truer  spirit.  Such  a  one  was  John  Carpenter,  bishop  of 
Worcester  from  1443  to  1476.  He  was  not  only  char- 
itable and  kind,  but  also  practical,  energetic  and  wise. 
His  care  extended  to  the  repairing  both  of  churches 
and  of  highways — roadmaking  then  being  esteemed  an 
act  of  mercy.  In  his  diocese  discipline  was  adminis- 
tered firmly  and  judiciously  and  the  poor  were  particu- 
larly looked  after,  but  one  of  the  bishop's  chief  anxieties 
was  to  secure  an  eloquent,  an  earnest  and  a  learned  clergy. 
At  his  visitations  he  appointed  an  able  preacher  before 
the  assembled  priests  to  "  expound  the  word  of  God." 
He  gave  a  license  to  suitable  persons  "  to  preach  and 
set  forth  the  word  of  God  anywhere  within  the  diocese." 
Under  his  authority  several  of  the  smaller  monasteries 
of  his  jurisdiction  were  dissolved  and  their  revenues  and 
members  added  to  larger  establishments.  There  is  no 
indication  that  he  sympathized  with  other  than  the  pop- 
ular theological  and  ecclesiastical  theories,  but  his  dili- 
gence, sternness  of  purpose,  kindness  of  heart,  honest 
and  straightforward  life,  distinguish  him  as  one  worthy 
of  praise  and  as  a  preparer  of  the  way  for  better  things, 
Others  like  him  adorned  the  episcopate,  and,  but  for 
such  as  these — men  whose  righteous  spirits  were  grieved 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION.  39/ 

at  the  evils  around  them — the  times  would  have  been 
utterly  without  hope. 

But  the  most  resplendent  figure — grander  than  all 
these— was  John  Wickliffe.  He  was  as  a  star  set  in  the 
dark  sky,  whose  radiance  both  cheers  the  gloom  and 
suggests  the  coming  of  the  splendor  of  strength.  From 
him  the  religious  life  of  England  and  largely  that  of 
Western  Christendom  received  their  first  awakening- 
He  was  born  about  the  year  1324  in  the  neighborhood 
of  Richmond,  in  Yorkshire,  and  at  Oxford  became  suc- 
cessively a  student,  the  master  of  Baliol  and  the  lec- 
turer in  divinity.  His  learning  gained  for  him  the  title 
of  the  "Evangelic  Doctor."  It  was  in  1366,  when  he 
assumed  the  office  of  lecturer  and  became  "  peculiaris 
regis  clericus,"  that  he  first  appeared  as  a  Reformer  by 
advocating,  on  the  ground  of  the  independence  of  Eng- 
land, the  non-payment  of  certain  arrears  of  the  tribute 
which  King  John  had  bound  himself  and  his  successors 
to  give  to  the  Roman  see,  and  which  Pope  Urban  V.  had 
demanded.  He  even  maintained  that  property  given  to 
the  clergy  may  rightfully  be  taken  away,  and  denounced 
the  employment  of  ecclesiastics  in  secular  affairs.  In 
this  he  obtained  the  support  of  John  of  Gaunt,  though 
the  motive  of  that  nobleman  was  no  higher  than  to  hu- 
miliate a  conspicuous  leader  in  the  opposite  political 
party — the  wealthy  and  talented  William  of  Wykeham, 
bishop  of  Winchester  and  founder  of  two  colleges.  Thus 
encouraged,  Wickliffe  went  on  to  expose  what  he  con- 
sidered the  pride,  pomp  and  luxury  of  the  prelates  and 
the  ignorance  and  neglect  of  preaching  in  the  clergy. 
He  condemned  their  immunity  from  secular  jurisdiction, 
and  affirmed  the  pope—"  that  proud  worldly  priest  of 


39 J^  READINGS   IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Rome" — to  be    the  Antichrist   and  the    "most  cursed 
of  clippers  and  purse-carvers." 

The  bitter  outburst  against  the  papal  usurpations 
expressed  the  feeling  not  of  Wickliffe  only,  but  as  well 
of  most  of  his  countrymen.  Men  could  not  tamely 
accept  the  assumptions  of  an  Italian  pontiff  to  depose 
kings,  to  set  aside  acts  of  Parliament  and  to  reverse  the 
decisions  of  the  national  courts.  The  burden  became 
next  to  unbearable  when  the  claim  extended  to  an  appel- 
late jurisdiction,  to  the  appointment  to  vacant  bishoprics 
and  parishes  and  to  enormous  tribute.  The  times  were 
bad,  but  the  pope's  exactions  were  merciless.  What  the 
hail  left,  the  locust  destroyed ;  and  never  were  Egyptian 
locusts  like  unto  those  which  came  from  the  Eternal 
City.  First-fruits,  annates,  Peter's  pence,  fees  for  indul- 
gences and  dispensations,  gifts  and  taxed  tribute,  were 
among  the  means  used  to  drain  the  wealth  of  the  Eng- 
lish people  into  the  papal  coffers.  "  In  truth,"  said  Inno- 
cent IV.,  more  facetiously  than  wisely,  "  England  is  our 
pleasant  garden — a  well-spring  that  cannot  be  exhausted, 
a  land  of  rich  abundance ;  and  where  much  is,  much 
may  be  taken."  The  difficulty  of  opposition  was  in- 
creased by  the  fact  that  against  the  will  of  both  king 
and  people  the  pope  filled  dignities  and  benefices  with 
men  who  would  do  his  bidding.  The  Church  of  Eng- 
land was  crowded  with  Italian  and  other  foreign  prelates 
and  priests,  ecclesiastics  utterly  out  of  touch  with  her  tra- 
ditions, and,  corrupt  themselves,  tainting  all  with  whom 
they  came  in  contact.  They  upheld  the  extremest  pre- 
tensions of  the  papacy  and  withstood  every  effort  toward 
a  righteous  change.  The  protest  of  Wickliffe  is  the  pro- 
test of  an  English  clergyman  against  so  grievous  a  wrong 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION.  399 

— more  political  at  first,  perhaps,  than  spiritual,  but  nev- 
theless  an  honest,  patriotic  and  indignant  protest. 

The  condition  of  the  clergy  could  not  but  arouse  the 
spirit  of  a  man  such  as  Wickliffe.  The  prelates  were 
very  rich ;  the  common  clergy  were  very  poor.  The 
parishes  were,  indeed,  robbed  right  and  left  to  support 
the  cathedrals  and  the  monasteries.  In  crenellated  pal- 
aces, with  large  numbers  of  chaplains,  servitors  and 
retainers,  dwelt  the  bishops  ;  in  comfortable  and  delight- 
ful abbeys  lived  the  monks.'  The  former  were  more 
statesmen  than  ecclesiastics,  more  secular  than  spiritual ; 
the  latter  were  easy-going  country-gentlemen  respect- 
ably religious,  kind  and  indulgent  to  their  tenants,  liberal 
to  the  poor  and  oblivious  to  all  things  in  the  world  ex- 
cept their  own  interests.  They  were  the  enemies  of  the 
parish  clergy,  who  were  too  impoverished  to  be  either 
learned,  respectable  or  efficient.  Coming,  as  a  rule,  of 
a  low  origin,  their  very  needs  driving  them  to  do  things 
they  would  not  perhaps  otherwise  have  done,  opposed 
by  powerful  corporations,  the  secular  priests  were  among 
the  most  unfortunate  of  men.  So  mercilessly  were  their 
parishes  fleeced  by  the  superior  clergy  that  not  unfre- 
quently  the  vicar  was  forced  to  beg  his  bread.  The 
plunder  was  universal  and  wholesale ;  not  uncommonly 
nine-tenths  of  the  parochial  revenue  went  to  support  the 
leech-drawing  pomp  of  dignitaries  who  never  did  aught 
to  justify  their  existence.  That  ignorance  prevailed  is 
not  surprising :  bishops  had  to  ordain  men,  not  because 
of  their  fitness,  but  because  they  were  willing  to  serve 
in  the  midst  of  unmitigated  poverty.  Hence  we  hear 
of  clergy  who  did  not  know  either  Scripture  or  Liturgy, 
who  could  not  even  read,  and  whose  chief  accomplish- 


400  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

ment  seems  to  have  been  ale- drinking  and  driving  geese 
to  pasture.  A  chaplain  was  asked  by  the  dean  of  Salis- 
bury to  construe  the  opening-line  of  the  canon  of  the 
Mass,  "  Te  igitur  clementissime  Pater  rogamus,"  but  he 
could  tell  neither  in  what  case  "  Te  "  was  nor  by  what 
word  in  the  sentence  it  was  governed.  When  urged  to 
look  more  closely  at  the  word,  he  suggested  that  "  Te  " 
was  governed  by  **  Pater,"  because  the  "  Father  governs 
all  things  " !  He  could  not  tell  the  case,  or  even  the 
meaning,  of  "  clementissime,"  and  finally  protested 
against  being  examined  in  such  things.  This  instance 
is  not  unique :  the  standard  of  knowledge  among  the 
parochial  clergy  was  generally  very  low. 

Of  course  there  were  exceptions,  and  Wickliffe  readily 
recognized  such.  Chaucer's  well-known  description  of 
a  poor  parson  rises  up  like  a  bright  column  of  light  out 
of  the  black  gloom.  There  was  one  who  taught  the 
gospel  truly  and  faithfully,  one  who  would  rather  lose 
his  tithes  than  oppress  any  who  could  not  pay  them — a 
holy  and  virtuous  man,  a  shepherd,  and  no  mercenary, 
a  true  friend  who,  though  his  parish  was  wide  and  the 
houses  were  far  asunder,  cared  neither  for  storm  nor  for 
rain,  but  in  sickness  and  in  danger  travelled  with  staff 
in  hand  and  yisited  the  needy  one,  were  he  great  or 
small.  Even  if  among  the  thousands  of  parish  clergy 
in  England  there  were  none  better  than  he,  there  were 
doubtless  many  who  for  earnestness  and  godliness  ap- 
proached very  nearly  that  perfect  pattern.  God's  grace 
is  never  wholly  weakened. 

But  clerical  poverty  and  clerical  ignorance  were  not 
the  worst  evils  that  aroused  Wickliffe's  indignation. 
The  wealthy  clergy,  free  from  the  fear  of  episcopal  visi- 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION.  4OI 

tatlon  or  reprimand,  gave  themselves  up  to  that  which 
best  pleased  them.  They  became  largely  non-residents 
— "strawberries,"  as  Latimer  afterward  called  them — 
visiting  their  cures  but  once  a  year.  These  spent  their 
time  in  London  or  in  the  gay  houses  of  lords  and  ladies, 
sometimes  holding  positions  as  stewards  and  leaving 
their  people  unshriyen,  unprayed  for  and  untaught.  Not 
even  Lent  brought  them  home.  In  their  dress,  in  open 
defiance  of  the  canons  of  the  Church,  they  imitated  the 
extravagances  of  the  period,  and  with  their  richly-orna- 
mented gowns  of  scarlet  and  green  glittering  with  gold, 
their  broad  bucklers,  long  swords  and  gay  baldrics,  were 
not  to  be  known  from  the  laity.  Others  who  chanced 
to  remain  at  home  were  too  often  a  scandal  and  a  dis- 
grace. They  showed  little  interest  in  the  things  of  the 
altar.  The  sports  and  the  games  of  the  village  green 
and  the  customs  and  the  dangers  of  the  chase  were 
better  known  than  breviary  or  canons.  The  coarse  oath 
and  the  lewd  jest  too  often  fell  from  lips  consecrated  to 
utter  holy  things,  and  drunkenness,  cruelty  and  licen- 
tiousness excited  the  astonishment  even  of  the  simple 
and  immoral  villagers. 

As  the  good  side  of  the  episcopate  is  seen  in  such 
men  as  Peckham  and  Bradwardine  of  Canterbury,  Wil- 
liam of  Wykeham  and  Carpenter  of  Worcester,  so  is  the 
bad  side  exhibited  in  a  prelate  such  as  Henry  Burgh- 
esh  of  Lincoln.  He  died  in  1340 — a  man  noble  in 
birth,  rich,  and  of  power  at  the  court  of  Edward  HI., 
once  chancellor  and  twice  treasurer  of  England  and  for 
some  time  "  principal  adviser  of  the  king  in  foreign 
affairs" — so  mighty,  indeed,  that  in  his  twenty-ninth  year 
he  was  nominated  to  the  see  consecrated  in  its  founda- 

26 


402  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

tion  by  the  pure  and  lofty  Remigius,  and  by  virtue  of 
that  office  not  only  baptized  the  Black  Prince,  but  also 
with  a  lively  interest  protected  the  rights  of  the  univer- 
sity within  his  diocese.  He  was  not  extremely  wicked, 
and  "is  not,  therefore,  an  extravagant  illustration ;  but  he 
was  of  an  arbitrary  and  oppressive  disposition,  overbear- 
ing toward  the  poor,  exacting  in  his  privileges  and  de- 
termined to  have  his  own  way.  Perhaps  in  his  avarice 
and  his  contempt  for  the  rights  of  others  he  did  after  the 
manner  of  the  clergy  described  fifty  years  later  in  the 
curious  Complaint  of  the  Ploughman^  who  insisted  upon 
the  utmost  farthing  of  their  dues : 

"  For  the  tithing  of  a  ducke, 
Or  of  an  apple  or  an  aie. 
They  make  men'  swere  upon  a  boke ; 
Thus  they  foulen  Christes  faie." 

At  any  rate,  as  a  mighty  hunter  before  the  Lord,  Henry, 
prince  of  the  Church  from  the  broad  Humber  to  the 
winding  Thames,  behaved  with  great  cruelty  toward  the 
people  at  Tynghurst,  in  Buckinghamshire.  To  make 
larger  his  park  there,  he  enclosed  a  considerable  portion 
of  the  common  and  deprived  a  number  of  poor  bodies 
of  both  their  tenements  and  the  land  from  which  they 
had  obtained  food  for  their  families  and  herbage  for 
their  cattle.  The  needy  were  driven  away  that  he  might 
hunt  the  antlered  deer.  Such  brutality  bruised  the  souls 
of  men.  They  could  not  love  nor  obey  bishops  who 
cared  more  for  self  than  for  the  wearied  flock  of  Christ. 
Nor  did  prelates  addicted  to  the  chase  and  to  the  whole- 
sale gratification  of  their  own  pleasures  exercise  either 
authority  or  influence  in  the  Church.     The  Lord's  heri- 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION.  403 

tage  lay  waste,  and  none  sought  to  repair  the  breaches. 
But  legend  had  its  revenge  on  Henry  Burghesh.  His 
end  was  not  like  that  of  the  martyr  of  Canterbury.  The 
tapers  placed  around  his  body  when  put  out  did  not  im- 
mediately relight  themselves ;  nor  did  he,  as  St.  Thomas 
is  said  to  have  done,  after  all  the  obsequies  of  mortality 
had  been  performed  about  him,  while  he  was  lying  upon 
the  bier  in  the  choir,  raise  his  left  hand  and  give  the 
benediction.  On  the  contrary,  the  sporting  bishop  could 
not  rest  in  his  cathedral-tomb.  In  the  darksome  night 
the  people  of  his  Buckinghamshire  manor  saw  him 
clothed  in  a  short  coat  of  Lincoln  green,  with  bow  and 
arrows  in  his  hand  and  a  hunter's  horn  slung  round  his 
neck — a  perfect  verderer.  Hither  and  thither  he  wan- 
dered through  the  glades  and  under  the  widespreading 
trees  of  the  episcopal  park.  "  You  know,"  the  forlorn 
ghost  at  last  said,  "  with  how  great  offence  to  God  and 
the  poor  I  enclosed  this  park ;  and  now,  for  penance,  I 
am  appointed  its  keeper  until  the  land  shall  be  restored 
to  its  rightful  occupiers.  I  beseech  you,  therefore,  to 
charge  the  canons  of  Lincoln  to  destroy  the  fences,  that 
each  man  may  have  his  own  again."  Possibly,  rather 
than  superstition,  there  was  in  this  story  a  shrewd  con- 
trivance for  obtaining  the  restitution  of  rights. 

But  such  negligence  of  spiritual  functions  on  the  part 
of  the  clergy  did  inevitably  lead  to  the  religious  and  the 
moral  degradation  of  the  masses.  They  were  as  sheep 
having  no  shepherd.  The  physical  wretchedness  amidst 
which  the  peasant  lived  was  a  type  of  the  inward 
desolation.  His  mind  was  not  wholly  a  blank.  He 
knew  that  the  Milky  Way  was  the  path  that  led  to  the 
shrine  of  Our  Lady  at  Walsingham,  that  witches  could 


404  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

work  him  ill  and  fortune-tellers  forecast  his  future,  that 
the  sturdy  friar  who  came  round  once  in  a  while  had 
relics  rare  and  wonderful  which  would  save  a  man's  soul 
if  only  he  could  buy  them,  and  that  for  a  few  logs  or  a 
bundle  of  hay  or  a  goose  he  could  obtain  an  absolution 
good  against  all  possible  contingencies.  He  knew,  too, 
that  the  mysteries  which  were  played  in  the  church- 
nave  were  true  as  Scripture,  that  vows,  pilgrimages, 
fastings  and  alms  were  marvellous  means  of  grace,  that 
miracles  and  ghosts  were  common  as  gnats  beneath  the 
willows,  and  that  when  he  died  he  would  suffer  many  a 
long  year  in  purgatory  because  he  had  no  one  to  pay 
for  a  mass  for  his  soul ;  so  that  his  mind  was  not 
altogether  vacant,  and  possibly  into  it  may  once  and 
again  have  flitted  a  ray  of  comfort.  But  what  wonder 
that  vice  abounded  and  suicides  were  common  ?  And 
more  awful  was  the  astounding  fact  that  the  people 
loved  the  darkness.  When  a  reforming  priest  spoke  at 
Leicester  against  the  vices,  follies,  extravagance  and 
false  doctrines  of  the  age,  the  women  were  so  incensed 
that  they  stoned  him  out  of  the  town.  Some  time  later 
the  prioress  of  a  certain  nunnery  in  Suffolk  was  brought 
to  trial  for  her  shameful  conduct.  She  confessed  her 
immorality ;  peculation  amounting  to  downright  robbery 
she  could  not  gainsay ;  adultery  was  brought  too  plainly 
home  to  her ;  but  one  accusation  she  vehemently  denied : 
all  sympathy  with  the  teachings  of  John  Wickliffe  she 
earnestly  repudiated.  She  was  not  so  bad  as  that !  The 
work  before  Wickliffe  was  not  only  to  denounce  the 
sins  of  the  clergy,  but  also  to  awaken  the  people  them- 
selves to  a  sense  of  their  own  ignorance,  danger  and 
wrong-doings. 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION  405 

Thus  far  the  indictment  is  terrible,  but  the  fiercest 
indignation  of  John  Wicklifife,  like  the  fiercest  of  William 
Langley,  is  poured  out  upon  the  friars.  The  monks 
may  have  been  bad,  but  the  friars  had  become  superla- 
tively wicked.  Lying  miracle-mongers,  indolent  beggars, 
lewd,  idle,  drunken  impostors,  their  hypocrisy,  filthiness 
and  iniquity  defy  description.  They  vended  relics 
throughout  the  country ;  to  instance  such  is  to  expose 
the  sacred  and  true  to  the  ludicrousness  and  shame  of 
the  false.  They  violated  all  discipline,  dropping  into 
parishes  and  laughing  at  the  constituted  authorities. 
All  the  filth,  depravity  and  covetousness  possible  to 
man  was  concentrated  in  the  friars.  Scoundrels  of  the 
deepest  dye,  shams  of  the  rankest  sort,  villains  without 
a  shadow  of  excuse,  Wickliffe  has  not  a  word  in  their 
favor.  They  swarmed  thoughout  the  land  as  the 
summer-flies  gather  upon  carrion.  In  numbers,  vile- 
ness  and  disregard  for  religion  and  virtue  they  were 
approached  only  by  the  chantry-priests — men  whose 
sole  business  it  was  to  say  masses  for  the  dead.  As 
people  then  rarely  died  without  leaving  money  for  such 
masses — one  man  directed  a  million  to  be  said  for  his 
soul — the  work  demanded  many  priests  ;  the  day's  mass 
done,  the  priest  had  naught  before  him  but  idleness,  and 
in  that  idleness  he  found  abundant  sin.  Against  such 
as- these  Wickliffe  uttered  the  most  scathing  rebukes. 
He  charged  the  friars  with  fifty  errors  of  doctrine  and 
practice,  with  stealing  the  alms  of  the  poor,  deceiving 
the  common  people  with  fables  and  legends,  pretending 
to  extraordinary  sanctity  and  grasping  at  money  by  all 
sorts  of  means.  Nor  does  he  appear  to  have  exagger- 
ated :  others,  who  differed  from  him  in  principle,  agree 


406  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

with  him  in  testimony,  and  the  feeling  gained  ground  that 
the  mendicant  orders  were  daily  ripening  for  the  scythe. 

It  is  pitiful  to  behold  bright  colors  fade  into  sombre 
hues,  and  to  turn  from  gladness  to  distressing  and 
terrible  scenes.  But  the  ivy  of  romance  which  poetry 
and  time  have  caused  to  grow  so  beautifully  and  luxu- 
riantly over  the  past  must  not  deceive  us  into  suppos- 
ing that  the  work  of  such  as  John  Wickliffe  had  no 
justifying  cause  or  that  the  age  needed  no  change. 
Complex  it  was :  flowers  of  choicest  sort  grew  amongst 
the  weeds ;  but  the  weeds  threatened  to  kill  the  flowers 
and  to  render  useless  the  soil,  and,  unless  righteousness 
had  wrought,  all  would  have  perished. 

The  doctrinal  position  of  John  Wickliffe  was  soon 
defined.  In  a  treatise  called  the  Wicket  he  attacked 
without  hesitation  the  dogma  of  transubstantiation, 
declaring  that,  while  the  sacrament  was  not  a  mere  sign, 
but  at  once  figure  and  truth,  the  body  of  Christ  was 
only  spiritually  and  sacramentally,  and  not  substantially 
or  corporeally,  in  the  consecrated  elements.  He  is  said 
to  have  held  the  uselessness  of  the  ministrations  of 
bishops  and  priests  who  are  in  mortal  sin,  and  even  of 
excommunication  unless  a  man  have  excommunicated 
himself  He  denied  the  force  of  papal  commands  and 
the  power  of  the  keys,  and  claimed  that  the  clergy,  and 
the  pope  himself,  if  in  the  wrong,  may  be  corrected  by 
the  laity.  In  one  of  his  most  remarkable  books,  the 
Trialogite,  among  other  things,  he  denounced  the  doc- 
trines of  saints,  indulgences,  the  equality  of  tradition 
with  Scripture  and  the  confessional.  It  is  unnecessary 
to  trace  the  chronological  development  of  these  opinions : 
some  were  held  at  an  earlier  and  some  at  a  later  period 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION  407 

in  his  career  ;  but  with  all  he  speaks  of  himself  as  a 
sincere  son  of  the  Church,  willing  to  retract  whenever 
he  can  be  convinced  he  is  wrong — a  position  his  enemies 
never  succeeded  in  establishing. 

The  means  Wickliffe  adopted  for  the  propagation  of 
his  principles  were  chiefly  three.  He  instituted  a  broth- 
erhood, under  the  name  of  "  poor  priests,"  who,  barefoot 
and  clad  in  rough  russet  frocks,  were  sent  into  the  far- 
off  country-places  to  instruct  the  humblest  classes  of 
the  people  in  religious  truth.  He  translated,  or  caused 
to  be  translated,  the  sacred  Scriptures  into  the  common 
tongue,  sending  the  whole  or  portions  out  by  his  preach- 
ers to  the  masses.  Lastly,  he  permeated  the  land  with 
his  popular  treatises  on  doctrinal  and  ecclesiastical  sub- 
jects— short  pithy  tracts  written  in  strong  and  clear 
English  prose.  The  effect  of  these  agencies  was  very 
great.  Persecution  began,  as  a  matter  of  course.  An 
attempt  was  made  to  get  the  version  of  the  Scriptures 
condemned  by  Parliament,  but  John  of  Gaunt  sturdily 
and  "  with  a  great  oath  "  declared  that  the  English  would 
never  submit  to  the  degradation  of  being  denied  a  Bible 
in  their  own  tongue  ;  other  nobles  concurring,  the  effort 
fell  through.  Several  times  the  ecclesiast'cal  authorities 
summoned  Wickliffe  before  them,  but,  while  nothing 
came  of  their  trials,  the  word  of  God  v;as  spread  far 
and  wide,  the  tracts  were  read  everywhere  and  vast 
numbers  of  the  people  were  enlightened  and  converted. 
In  Oxford  was  found  the  chief  stronghold  of  the  reform- 
ing party;  in  the  neighborhood  of  Lutterworth,  in  Lei- 
cestershire, where,  in  1375,  Wickliffe  had  been  appointed 
rector,  a  contemporary  declared,  "  You  would  scarce  see 
two  in  the  way  but  one  of  them  was  a  disciple  of  Wick- 


408  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

liffe."  No  opposition  availed  anything.  Powerful  friends 
stood  by  the  new  movement ;  its  results  were  evidently 
beneficial,  and  England  had  to  wait  for  some  years  be- 
fore she  learned  the  way  of  suppressing  such  work. 

The  grand  old  Reformer  remained  in  his  parish  to  the 
day  of  his  death,  fearlessly  and  faithfully  maintaining 
to  the  very  last  the  convictions  of  his  earnest  soul.  "  I 
should  indeed,"  he  said,  "  be  worse  than  an  infidel  if  I 
were  not  ready  to  defend  even  to  the  death  the  law  of 
Christ."  He  was  summoned  to  appear  in  Rome  and 
answer  to  the  charges  brought  against  him.  "  I  know," 
was  the  reply,  "  by  the  faith  which  I  have  learned  from 
the  gospel,  that  Antichrist  and  his  council  can  only 
destroy  the  body,  but  that  Christ,  whose  part  I  sustain, 
can  cast  both  body  and  soul  into  hell."  He  may  be  said 
to  have  died  in  harness.  He  was  assisting  in  his  own 
church  at  the  celebration  of  holy  communion  on  Inno- 
cents' day,  December  28,  1384,  when  he  was  struck 
down  with  an  attack  of  palsy,  and  on  the  last  day  of 
the  year  he  was  called  away  and  entered  into  his  rest. 
His  enemies  drew  attention  to  the  fact  that  as  a  judg- 
ment he  was  taken  ill  on  the  festival  of  St.  Thomas  of 
Canterbury,  the  champion  and  martyr  of  the  hierarchical 
claims,  and  died  on  the  festival  of  St.  Sylvester,  the  pope 
on  whom  Constantine  was  supposed  to  have  bestowed 
those  privileges  and  endowments  which  Wickliffe  had 
so  boldly  and  consistently  attacked.  His  remains  were 
suffered  to  lie  in  the  grave  till  1428,  when  the  Council 
of  Constance  ordered  them  to  be  taken  up  and  burned. 
Like  the  ashes  of  Savonarola  into  the  Arno,  and  of  Huss 
and  Jerome  into  the  Trent,  so  the  charred  dust  of  John 
Wickliffe  was   thrown   into  the  Swift.     What  mattered 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION.  4O9 

it?  The  work  done  and  the  light  shed  by  the  "  Morning 
Star  of  the  Reformation  "  did  not  perish.  The  promise 
of  the  coming  day  was  reahzed ;  and  as  his  ashes  were 
borne  by  the  river  to  the  sea,  and  by  the  sea  carried  far 
away,  so  the  truths  he  taught  have  been  scattered  in 
many  lands  throughout  the  world. 

It  is  well  to  indicate  the  immediate  history  of  the  fol- 
lowers of  this  wonderful  and  time-honored  man.  They 
were  called  "  LoUers  "  or  "  Lollards,"  both  expressions 
being  intended  as  terms  of  reproach,  the  first  meaning 
a  lounger  or  an  idle  vagabond,  and  the  second  one  who 
sings  or  hums — a  canting  mumbler.  Their  opponents 
also  spoke  of  them  as  the  tares,  thus  making  a  bad  pun 
upon  the  Latin  lolia^  and  they  charged  them  with  receiv- 
ing the  devil  in  the  shape  of  a  fly,  and  with  swallowing 
candles  of  divers  colors  that  they  might  savor  of  the  old 
man.  Such  things,  if  the  worst  that  malignity  could  in- 
vent, indicate  the  general  purity  and  piety  of  Wickliffe's 
disciples.  Nor  were  the  disciples  of  the  lower  orders 
only :  among  them  were  many  nobles  and  members  of 
the  most  distinguished  families  in  England.  Much  less 
was  the  movement  territorially  limited.  The  city  of  Lon- 
don, and  in  but  a  slightly  less  degree  the  whole  country, 
became  warmly  "  Lollard."  It  struck  its  roots  deep. 
The  contrast  between  its  simplicity  and  energy  and  the 
general  teaching  of  the  clergy  was  so  great  that  the 
people,  wearied  with  the  burdens  under  which  they  had 
long  struggled,  welcomed  it  as  a  last  hope.  The  move- 
ment kept  within  the  Church,  not  seeking  to  create 
schism,  but  rather  to  convert  and  to  control  the  whole 
body  of  the  faithful.  It  had  nothing  against  bishops 
because  they  were  bishops  or  against  priests  because 


4'0  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

they  were  priests ;  only  when  they  were  bad  and  un- 
worthy men.  If  in  some  directions  failure  was  imme- 
diate, in  others  much  success  was  attained.  The  Bible 
soon  became — so  said  an  opposing  contemporary — 
"  more  common  to  laymen  and  to  women  who  can 
read  than  it  is  wont  to  be  to  clerks  well  learned  and  of 
good  understanding."  Strenuous  efforts  were  made  to 
improve  the  morals  of  the  people,  especially  in  London, 
and  there  is  no  doubt  that  the  conscience  of  many  an 
indolent  but  well-meaning  clergyman  was  touched  and 
greater  zeal  was  created. 

It  was,  however,  unavoidable  in  such  an  age  that  so 
radical  a  movement  should  overstep  its  legitimate  bounds 
and  run  to  excesses  far  beyond  the  expectations  of  its 
originators.  Wickliffe  is  not  responsible  for  the  extrav- 
agant and  revolutionary  theories  which  so  many  of  his 
followers  adopted ;  much  less  is  he  chargeable  for  the 
lapse  of  Lollardy  into  political  partisanship.  But  when 
the  king  saw  the  new  school  of  effort  become  the  centre 
of  the  socialistic  dreams  of  the  age,  he  and  most  loyal  cit- 
izens withdrew  from  it  their  favor.  They  were  perplexed 
and  frightened  at  the  extent  and  the  boldness  of  the 
assault  upon  long-existing  institutions  and  popular  cus- 
toms, and,  suspicious  of  the  part  the  "  poor  preachers  " 
took  in  the  peasant-revolt,  determined  upon  suppression. 

At  first  imprisonment  was  the  extreme  penalty  en- 
acted. The  work  of  uprooting  a  system  which  threat- 
ened ruin  to  both  Church  and  State,  and  was  therefore 
political  as  well  as  religious,  fell  to  William  Courtenay, 
archbishop  of  Canterbury,  a  clergyman  of  great  learn- 
ing and  dignity,  devout  and  pure  in  his  life,  and  a  son 
of  the  earl  of  Devonshire.     His  feelings   were  against 


BEGINNINGS  OF  REFORMATION.  41I 

both  Wickliffe  and  his  followers,  but  he  failed  to  touch 
the  former.  Of  the  latter  he  recovered  many — notably, 
Nicholas  Hereford  and  Philip  Repington,  two  of  Wick- 
lifife's  most  intimate  associates.  The  one  died  a  Carthu- 
sian monk  at  Coventry,  and  the  other  became  eventually 
bishop  of  Lincoln,  a  cardinal  and  a  bitter  persecutor  of 
his  former  friends.  Archbishop  Courtenay,  however, 
did  not  kill  the  movement.  It  is  alleged  that  the  Lol- 
lards were  even  bold  enough  to  ordain  men  to  the 
priesthood ;  which,  if  true,  would  be  the  first  historical 
instance  of  presbyterial  ordination.  On  the  other  hand, 
the  Parliament  added  to  its  series  of  protests  against  the 
papacy  by  passing  in  1390  the  statute  of  Provisors, 
whereby  the  pope  was  hindered  from  thrusting  his  ap- 
pointees into  English  sees  and  livings,  and  in  1392  the 
statute  of  Praemunire,  which  imposed  forfeiture  of  goods 
as  the  penalty  for  obtaining  any  decree  from  Rome. 

In  1395,  Thomas  Arundel  was  translated  from  York 
to  Canterbury — a  prelate  of  high  birth,  wise  in  state- 
craft, worldly,  ambitious,  vindictive  and  firmly  opposed 
to  LoUardy.  When,  largely  by  his  instrumentality, 
Henry  Bolingbroke  was  made  king,  he  suffered  his 
persecuting  spirit  full  swing.  The  new  sovereign  owed 
his  crown  to  the  reactionary  party,  and  was  both  excited 
because  the  Lollards  were  almost  wholly  on  Richard  II.'s 
side  and  ashamed  for  the  motives  which  had  once  led 
his  father  to  befriend  them.  He  gave  his  support  to 
the  severest  measures  for  blotting  out  the  work  of 
Wickliffe.  Unfortunately,  by  their  excesses  and  tur- 
bulent outbreaks  the  Lollards  justified  both  king  and 
archbishop.  They  lost  their  religious  spirit  and  became 
incendiaries  and  demagogues ;  in  the  end  the  movement 


412  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

was  utterly  broken  up.  The  brilliancy  of  Henry  V.  and 
the  splendor  of  his  French  wars  directed  the  people's 
minds  in  another  direction,  and  within  fourscore  years 
of  Wickliffe's  death  there  was  none  in  the  land  who 
called  himself  a  follower  of  that  great  man  or  professed 
attachment  to  LoUardism. 

Thus  is  sufficiently  proven  the  assertion  that  the  cen- 
turies immediately  preceding  the  Reformation  were  not 
without  their  part  in  that  great  effort.  They  prepared 
the  way.  There  were  failure  and  defeat,  but  still  the 
current  of  thought  and  opinion  flowed  onward.  Dis- 
content and  discouragement  worked  together  with  the 
keener  insight  and  the  deeper  reflection.  The  good 
men  on  both  sides  furthered  the  one  purpose ;  the  bad 
men  on  both  sides  were  alike  hasteners  of  the  coming 
change.  They  who  dreaded  the  revolution  and  longed 
to  retain  the  past  were  as  toilers  striving  to  keep  the 
driving  rain  out  of  the  rent  and  broken  hut.  Here  a 
crevice  might  be  stopped  up  and  the  trickling  stream 
stayed,  but  there  the  water  came  in  afresh.  The  flood 
was  upon  them,  and  sooner  or  later  the  flood  would 
sweep  all  away.  And  gentle,  discerning  souls,  reading 
the  signs  of  the  times  and  watching  the  changes  in  the 
heavens,  girded  themselves  for  the  struggle.  Wistfully 
and  lovingly  they  looked  back  to  the  things  that  had 
charmed  them — the  sweet  associations,  the  dreamy 
splendor,  the  chiming  of  the  abbey-bells  and  the  rest- 
fulness  of  the  abbey-life,  the  Fathers  and  the  friends; 
then  they  wiped  away  the  falling  tears,  and  in  the  trust 
of  Him  who  guides  all  things  they  turned  to  the  new  era 
and  sought  in  that  to  do  their  duty  and  to  find  their  joy. 

We  too  may  love  to  linger  in  the  memories  of  the 


BEGINNINGS   OF  REFORMATION  413 

eventide  of  the  mediaeval  day.  Its  like  can  never  be 
again ;  both  glory  and  shame  have  gone  for  ever.  For 
this  fact  no  one  is  to  be  blamed  and  no  one  is  to  be 
praised.  The  sun  had  reached  the  western  sky,  and  no 
hand  could  stay  its  course.  To-morrow  comes  the 
world's  new  life,  and  who  shall  say  that  it  has  not 
been  better,  nobler,  grander? 


CHAPTER    XIV. 

Saxon  anil  g^toisisi. 

An  ancient  saying  has  much  truth  in  it:  "  Erasmus  laid 
the  egg,  and  Luther  hatched  it ;"  for  in  the  evolution 
which  culminated  in  the  crisis  of  the  sixteenth  century 
Erasmus  had  a  distinguished  part  and  prepared  the  way 
for  the  efforts  of  the  Saxon  and  the  Swiss  divines.  Born 
at  Rotterdam  in  October,  1466,  and  in  his  childhood 
sent  to  school  at  Deventer,  at  the  age  of  thirteen  he  en- 
tered upon  conventual  preparatron,  and  when  nineteen, 
much  against  his  will,  at  Stein,  made  his  profession  as 
an  Augustinian  canon.  Afterward  he  was  ordained 
priest.  But  neither  the  monastic  life  nor  the  priesthood 
had  for  him  any  attractions ;  he  was  fond  of  learning,  and 
longed  for  residence  in  the  university.  In  1489  he  be- 
came for  a  brief  while  secretary  to  the  bishop  of  Cam- 
bray,  and  at  once  passed  from  the  seclusion  of  the 
cloister  to  the  society  of  cardinals  and  princes,  of  schol- 
ars and  artists.  After  residence  at  Paris,  about  1497  he 
went  to  Oxford,  where  he  remained  for  two  or  three 
years,  and  probably  made  the  acquaintance  of  such  Eng- 
lish scholars  as  Colet,  Grocyn,  Linacre  and  Latimer. 
Then,  on  the  Continent,  came  ten  years  of  wandering 
from  university  to  university,  picking  up  knowledge  and 
suffering  many  privations.  In  1 509  he  began  to  teach 
Greek  at  Cambridge.    This  was  his  favorite  study.    From 

414 


SAXON  AND   SWISS,  415 

the  day  in  his  early  youth  when  an  old  Greek  showed 
him  a  copy  of  Homer,  he  never  rested  in  his  pursuit  of 
the  Hellenic  tongue  and  literature.  He  did  not  meet 
with  much  encouragement  in  England.  There  were,  he 
says,  five  or  six  scholars  in  London  who  had  not  their 
equal  in  Italy,  but  at  Cambridge  the  masters  did  all 
they  could  to  bring  him  from  Greek  into  their  mill  of 
dialectics.  He  avoided  them  that  he  might  not  waste 
time,  and  "  lived  like  a  cockle  shut  up  in  his  shell,  hum- 
ming over  his  books."  His  audiences  were  small.  His 
wants  were  few :  he  asks  only  for  a  warm  chamber,  a 
clean  hearth  and,  instead  of  the  native  beer,  a  little  Greek 
wine ;  but  the  fees  were  so  scanty  that  he  had  to  support 
himself  upon  presents  from  wealthy  ecclesiastics.  The 
day  came  when  he  writes  :  "  Once  I  dreamed  of  gold  in 
England ;  now,  like  Ulysses,  I  would  be  glad  to  gaze  on 
the  chimneys  of  my  own  country."  He  left  Cambridge 
in  15 13,  having  well  begun  his  edition  of  the  Greek  Tes- 
tament. This  was  published  at  Basle  in  15 16;  and  of 
Basle  he  became '  rector  in  1522,  and  remained  such  till 
his  death,  in  1536. 

Erasmus  was  a  man  of  a  highly  nervous  temperament, 
emotional  and  susceptible  to  each  passing  movement. 
The  times  played  upon  his  soul  as  the  musician  plays 
upon  the  harp,  and  to  every  touch  he  made  response. 
He  was  one  of  those  deep  thinkers  and  well-read  men  to 
whom  partisanship  is  an  impossibility.  He  condemned 
the  clergy  and  the  monks  :  "  Hypocrites  reign  in  the 
courts  of  princes  ;  the  court  of  Rome  is  shameless  ;  what 
can  be  more  gross  than  these  continued  indulgences  ?" 
And  again  :  **  Pope  and  princes  treat  the  people  as  cattle, 
not  as   human  beings."      But  he   did   not  approve  of 


4l6  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Luther's  attack  upon  the  Church  and  upon  the  old 
theology.  He  was  conservative  and  inconsistent;  in 
1520  he  was  alike  censured  by  both  sides.  Probably 
he  did  not  appreciate  the  differences  ;  probably  he  was 
unconscious  of  the  fact  that  with  his  Greek  Testament 
he  was  laying  the  axe  at  the  root  of  the  old  tree.  Stranger 
still,  everybody  recognized  the  value  of  his  work.  Leo 
X.  accepted  its  dedication ;  bishops  were  unanimous  in 
their  praises  ;  scholars  made  no  exceptions  to  it.  Then 
the  Reformers  took  it  up,  and  labored  manfully  with  it 
against  the  very  system  that  had  so  well  sanctioned  it. 
So  with  all  his  work ;  the  tendency  was  to  mental  ex- 
pansion, to  the  breaking  away  from  authority.  Had  he 
been  more  theological  and  less  literary,  he  would  have 
been  recognized  as  a  leader  of  the  "  new  learning ;"  but 
his  scholarship,  playful  wit,  childlike  piety  and  popular 
twists  and  tastes  led  men  unconsciously  to  drift  into  the 
current  of  his  thoughts.  They  did  not  know  till  too  late 
that  the  spirit  and  the  influence  of  classic  literature  were 
fatal  to  scholasticism,  or  that  satire  and  ridicule  were 
destructive  of  the  monks.  The  step  was  great  when  he 
affirmed  that  not  the  correct  presentation  of  a  syllogism, 
but  the  life  of  morality  and  piety,  makes  the  theologian ; 
greater,  in  his  declaration,  "  I  would  rather  hear  un- 
learned maidens  talk  of  Christ  than  certain  rabbis  who 
pass  for  men  of  high  attainments."  Much  was  involved 
in  turning  away  from  the  mediaeval  doctors  to  the  pagan 
poets ;  in  his  liberality  Erasmus  thought  some  of  the 
latter  inspired,  and  he  affirms :  "  The  spirit  of  Christ  is, 
perchance,  more  widely  diffused  than  we  imagine,  and 
many  will  appear  amongst  the  saints  whose  names  are 
not  written  in  my  calendar."     Such  sentences  are  seeds; 


SAXON  AND   SWISS.  A^X^J 

once  lodged  in  the  mind,  they  take  root  and  grow.  The 
age  Hstened,  but  neither  did  the  age  nor  did  Erasmus 
reahze  the  inevitable  result  of  such  teaching.  His 
character  is  complex  and  subtile,  but  its  most  charming 
feature  is  a  quiet,  penetrating  humor.  Fish  he  could 
not  eat :  **  his  heart,"  he  said,  "  was  Catholic,  but  his 
stomach  was  Lutheran."  He  advises  his  friend  Am- 
monius  how  he  shall  rub  off  some  of  his  modesty, 
and  begs  him,  whatever  he  does,  to  fight  where  he 
will  take  no  harm.  His  horses  troubled  him  much  : 
once  he  declares  that  he  has  one  free  from  all  mortal  sins 
except  gluttony  and  indolence,  and  from  Basle  in  15 1/ 
he  writes  that,  while  he  himself  has  grown  as  lean  as  a 
rake  by  ten  months'  hard  study,  his  horse,  having  had 
nothing  to  do,  has  grown  so  fat  that  he  can  scarcely  enter 
his  stable.  The  letters  and  colloquies  reveal  a  geniality 
and  lightheartedness  most  delightful.  Nor  had  his  times 
one  whom  it  more  delighted  to  honor.  He  was  the 
favorite  of  Europe.  At  every  centre  of  learning  were 
his  books  read,  and  both  Saxony  and  Switzerland  dis- 
cussed their  might.  He  died,  as  he  had  lived,  in  the 
old  faith,  disliking  the  changes  fast  making,  and  yet 
doing  more  than  any  other  man  living  to  inspire  and  to 
strengthen  the  mind  of  Christendom  for  those  changes. 
The  two  countries  just  mentioned — the  one  a  republic, 
and  the  other  a  monarchy — were  the  two  points  from 
which  the  Reformation  immediately  sprang.  Around 
each  point  gathered  a  distinct  school,  both  one  in  their 
general  protest  against  error,  but  differing  much  in  par- 
ticulars of  work  and  of  doctrine.  In  the  Saxon  school 
one  man  is  at  the  head  and  front ;  in  Switzerland  a  num- 
ber guide.     The  influence  of  the  Saxon  master  is  more 

27 


41 8  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

universal ;  that  of  the   Swiss   leaders,   more  immediate 
upon  England. 

The  first  principle  for  which  both  schools  contended 
was  the  right  of  the  individual  to  decide  what  a  revela- 
tion rnade  by  God  to  man  requires  him  to  believe. 
Against  this  doctrine  was  set  the  infallible  legislative 
and  supreme  authority  of  the  ecclesia  docens,  gradually 
removing  that  authority  from  the  councils  to  the  theo- 
logians, from  the  theologian^  to  the  hierarchy  and  from 
the  hierarchy  to  the  pope.  From  the  outset  the  Re- 
formers protested  against  such  an  assumption.  Coun- 
cils, divines,  bishops  and  popes  had  contradicted  one 
another  and  repeatedly  reversed  one  another's  judg- 
ments; the  Scriptures  were  addressed  to  people  so 
simple  that  all  might  understand,  so  positive  that  all 
were  responsible;  the  early  Fathers,  such  as  Origen, 
Basil  and  Chrysostom,  enjoined  the  duty  of  personal 
consideration  and  judgment ;  and  reason  showed  that 
the  Church  should  be  tried  by  the  Bible,  and  not  the 
Bible  by  the  Church.  Therefore  the  Bible  should  be  in 
everybody's  hand ;  even  the  ploughboy  might  take  his 
Father's  message,  read,  meditate  and  decide  thereupon, 
compare  the  teachings  of  the  clergy  with  its  revelations 
and  directly  partake  of  its  heavenly  consolation.  "  Like 
as  the  errors  of  the  clock,"  said  Bishop  Jewel  in  later 
years,  "  be  revealed  by  the  constant  course  of  the  sun, 
even  so  the  errors  of  the  Church  are  revealed  by  the 
everlasting  and  infallible  word  of  God."  Hence  the 
affirmation  of  the  doctrine  of  justification  by  faith 
alone.  Sacraments,  works  of  mercy,  devotions,  and 
the  like  were  means  to  sanctification,  but  they  had  noth- 
ing  whatever   to    do  with    salvation :    that   came    only 


SAXON  AND  SWISS.  419 

through  believing  in  Jesus  Christ.  Further  study  re- 
vealed the  folly  of  the  dogma  of  transubstantiation  and 
the  practices  which  follow  in  its  train  of  adoration, 
oblation,  solitary  communion  and  auricular  confession. 
Purgatory,  the  invocation  of  saints  and  angels,  celibacy, 
monastic  vows,  papal  authority,  the  worship  of  the 
Blessed  Virgin,  and  many  other  distinctively  mediaeval 
developments,  were  also  found  unable  to  stand  the  test 
of  examination  under  the  light  of  Scripture.  The  ques- 
tion concerning  matters  of  religion  was  no  longer  What 
saith  the  Church  ?  but  What  saith  the  Lord  ?  He  gave 
no  warrant  for  the  abuses  which  tried  the  souls  of  the 
righteous ;  therefore  they  should  perish  and  he  should 
be  restored  to  headship  over  the  Church.  Undoubtedly, 
both  Saxon  and  Swiss  went  farther  than  was  necessary. 
Much  they  swept  away  which  might  well  have  remained, 
but  the  result  of  their  work  as  a  whole  is  unquestionably 
good.  They  exalted  Christ;  they  helped  man.  They 
brought  to  light  truths  that  had  been  buried  beneath 
the  weight  of  superstition  and  tradition,  and  they  have 
sufficient  justification  in  the  contrast  which  still  exists 
between  the  Reformed  and  the  unreformed  lands.  In 
the  work  the  Saxon  school  was  only  chronologically  in 
advance  of  the  Swiss ;  before  long,  both  doctrinally  and 
potentially,  the  latter  outstripped  the  former. 

The  master  of  the  northern  centre  was  the  mighty, 
overawing  and  controlling  Martin  Luther,  History  has, 
indeed,  made  him  the  principal  figure  of  the  whole 
Reformation  ;  no  less  attention  can  we  give  him.  He 
it  was  who  shook  Europe  to  its  very  foundations.  As 
he  nailed  his  theses  upon  the  church  door  of  Witten- 
berg  he   sounded    the  death-knell  of  the   past;   as  he 


420  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

flung  the  papal  bull  into  the  fire  he  aroused  the  spirit  of 
the  new  times.  Others  had  struggled  and  died  in  the 
early  twilight ;  they  made  ready  the  way,  but  the  world 
would  not  awake  from  its  sleep.  Luther  came ;  he 
spoke,  and  men  sprang  up  into  the  activity  of  life. 
They  might  befriend  or  they  might  persecute ;  the  one 
could  not  win  nor  the  other  crush  into  silence.  He 
was  the  son  of  the  fulness  of  time.  Like  the  sun  in  his 
strength,  he  laughed  at  the  puny  efforts  to  put  back  the 
light  and  went  on  to  meridian  splendor.  At  his  voice 
the  mountains  shake  and  the  age  trembles. 

Only  the  child  of  poverty-stricken,  toiling  parents, 
born  at  Eisleben  on  St.  Martin's  eve  in  1483  ;  then  a 
scholar  at  Eisenach,  picking  up  learning  and  begging  in 
the  streets  for  the  bread  to  eat  and  the  rags  to  put  on ; 
afterward,  in  150 1,  a  student,  and  in  1505  a  friar,  at 
Erfurt;  by  and  by,  in  1 508,  lecturer  in  philosophy  at 
Wittenberg.  An  honorable  career,  but  with  nothing 
extraordinary  about  it.  Already  had  he  had  some 
spiritual  experience.  When  nineteen  years  of  age,  he 
was  saved  from  imminent  death.  Standing  with  his 
dear  friend  Alexis  under  a  tree  during  a  thunderstorm, 
the  lightning  rent  them  apart.  Luther  looked  with  fear 
upon  the  charred  body  of  his  comrade,  and  in  the 
awful  moment  he  gave  himself  up  to  God.  Henceforth 
his  desire  was  to  find  peace.  He  was  social,  strongly 
sensuous,  passionately  fond  of  art  and  music,  his  manner 
calm,  courteous,  unassuming  and  obliging  and  his  tastes 
both  studious  and  literary,  but  that  for  which  he  now 
longed  was  the  holiness  and  the  power  of  the  saint. 
Through  weary  nights  he  watched  and  prayed.  His 
fastings  and  his  conflicts  wasted  his  body  and  brought 


SAXON  AND  SWISS.  42 1 

his  mind  to  the  edge  of  deHrium.  Then  one  of  the 
aged  friars  reminded  him  of  the  article  of  the  Creed, 
"I  beheve  in  the  forgiveness  of  sins."  He  appHed  it; 
the  Hght  came.  When  professor  at  Wittenberg,  he 
brought  into  prominence  this  truth,  in  15 13  openly 
preaching  justification  by  faith.  But  so  far  there  was 
nothing  in  the  modest,  thin,  spare  man  to  indicate  the 
destiny-controller  and  the  world-wielder.  They  who 
looked  upon  him  discerned  nothing  great.  He  was 
only  as  a  star  faithfully  and  silently  wending  its  way 
amid  the  brilliant  streams  of  the  sky;  only  as  a  sea 
scarcely  rippled  by  the  wind,  upon  whose  face  play 
the  sunlight  and  the  shadows.  But  wait  till  the  storm 
comes.  Across  the  still  waters  sweeps  the  tempest ;  then 
follow  the  cry  of  irresistible  might,  the  crash  of  break- 
ing waves,  the  whirl  of  snow-white  foam,  the  cloud- 
driven  sky,  the  trembling  rocks,  the  yielding  sand :  the 
giant  is  awake.  So  with  Martin  Luther.  Touch  his 
soul,  and  his  force  becomes  irresistible,  awful,  crushing. 
Arouse  his  anger,  and  his  words  of  fierce  denunciation, 
fiery  wrath,  convincing  zeal  and  scathing  energy  like 
huge,  vast  waves  roll  on  to  the  ends  of  the  earth,  bear- 
ing before  them  all  that  dare  stand  in  their  way.  In 
calm  he  may  be  gentle,  insignificant ;  in  storm  he  is  an 
Elijah,  a  John  the  Baptist,  a  god  among  men.  Up  to 
the  year  1517  he  moved  placidly  along  maturing  in 
soul,  but  keeping  his  thoughts  pretty  much  to  himself 
and  conforming  to  the  practices  of  the  Church. 

At  noon  on  the  All  Saints'  day  of  that  year  came  the 
crisis.  Leo  X.  had  found  it  necessary  to  replenish  his 
coffers;  he  therefore  issued  a  decree  of  indulgence. 
Whoever  bought  a  share  in  such,  according  to  the  price 


422  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

paid,  would  have  remission  of  all  sin  for  some  time  past 
or  future — one  sin  excepted,  the  importation  of  alum 
from  any  except  the  papal  mines.  The  business  was 
farmed  out,  an  enterprising  ecclesiastic  paying  down  a 
lump  sum  for  a  given  district,  and  then,  by  selling  the 
indulgences  at  his  own  price,  making  what  he  could  out 
of  his  bargain.  The  district  to  which  Wittenberg  be- 
longed fell  to  the  lot  of  a  Dominican  friar  named  Tetzel,  a 
native  of  Leipsic  and  possessed  of  a  large  fortune.  He 
travelled  from  town  to  town  in  superb  style,  attended  by 
a  considerable  retinue  and  welcomed  by  the  ringing  of 
bells  and  by  solemn  processions.  The  indulgence  bull 
was  carried  before  him  on  a  velvet  cushion.  He  went 
to  the  parish  church  and  proclaimed  his  mission.  The 
value  of  the  indulgence  he  set  forth  in  most  extravagant 
terms.  Every  sin  that  man  or  woman  had  committed, 
or  could  commit — always  excepting  the  use  of  other 
than  papal  alum — was  forgiven.  Money  poured  in. 
The  venders  merrily  hummed  out  the  couplet, 

"  When  in  the  chest  the  coin  doth  ring, 
The  soul  direct  to  heaven  doth  spring." 

Tetzel  had  no  reason  to  complain;  his  little  slips  of 
parchment  pardons  sold  fast  enough.  But  when  peo- 
ple had  bought  their  absolution,  they  no  longer  went  to 
confession  and  there  was  no  more  check  upon  their 
tendency  to  wrong.  Even  Erasmus  complained  of  this 
shameful  license  to  sin.  Luther  did  more ;  he  was  cut 
to  the  heart.  That  autumn,  while  Tetzel  was  in  his 
neighborhood,  he  preached  from  his  pulpit  several  ser- 
mons to  demonstrate  that  a  change  of  heart  was  the 
sole   condition   for  a  forgiveness   of  sins.      In  one  he 


SAXON  AND   SWISS.  423 

declared,  "  If  some  to  whose  coffers  such  truth  is  pre- 
judicial call  me  a  heretic,  I  make  little  account  of  the*^ 
clamor,  for  it  proceeds  only  from  a  few  muddy-brained 
fellows  who  have  never  so  much  as  scented  the  Bible, 
never  read  the  doctrines  of  Christianity,  never  under- 
stood their  own  teachers,  but  are  wellnigh  rotting  in 
their  ragged  and  tattered  opinions."  Then  he  wrote 
out  his  ninety-five  objections  to  indulgences,  took  his 
hammer  and  a  few  nails,  and  fastened  the  document 
upon  the  church  door,  so  that  all  who  chose  might 
read.  In  a  month's  time  the  printers  had  scattered 
Luther's  protest  all  over  Europe. 

This  act  reveals  the  secret  of  Luther's  strength.  His 
eagle-eye  pierced  the  mists  which  baffled  and  blinded 
men,  and  discerned  the  evil  which  was  bringing  to  them 
death ;  his  lion-heart  shrank  not  from  the  consequent 
duty.  Others  might  talk  and  weep  and  wonder:  he 
must  act.  He  must  expose  the  wrong,  drag  it  out  into 
the  light,  and  even  strip  it  of  its  dress  of  antiquity  or 
authority.  It  was  false ;  therefore  away  with  it !  Men 
read  his  words ;  more,  their  hearts  burned  within  them ; 
still  more,  they  knew  that  he  spoke  truth  ;  and  yet  more, 
Europe  was  riven  in  twain.  Nor  did  either  friend  or  foe 
expect  that  he  who  had  thus  dared  the  world  would 
change  his  mind.  All  knew  that  he  was  sincere  and 
unyielding.  The  deed  was  done,  and  he  would  stand 
by  it.  He  was  excommunicated ;  one  who  had  gone  as 
far  as  he  had  cared  not  for  the  like.  The  pope  issued  a 
bull  condemning  him  and  his  doctrines ;  he  proclaimed 
to  all  Wittenberg  that  he  would  burn  the  papal  decree. 
This  he  did,  December  10,  1520,  at  nine  o'clock  in  the 
morning,  many  of  the  doctors  and  students  applauding. 


424  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

All  Germany  knew  that  the  power  of  the  Roman  see 
had  been  defied  and  broken ;  much  of  Germany,  and 
especially  Frederick,  elector  of  Saxony,  rejoiced  with 
Luther. 

Philip  Schwarzede,  or  Melanchthon,  cast  in  his  lot  with 
Luther  in  15 18.  He  was  of  a  rare  culture,  having  been 
made  a  B.  A.  of  Heidelberg  when  only  fourteen  years 
of  age,  and  an  M.  A.  at  Tubingen  when  seventeen.  His 
birth-year  was  1497  ;  his  father  was  called  "  the  lock- 
smith of  Heidelberg."  In  15 13  he  published  a  Greek 
grammar;  in  1 5 19  he  held  a  controversy  with  Eck, 
chancellor  of  the  University  of  Ingoldstadt  and  one  of 
the  ablest  divines  of  the  age.  Melanchthon  studied  in 
the  three  faculties,  but  never  became  an  ecclesiastic. 
A  better  theologian  than  Erasmus  and  more  scholarly 
than  Luther,  he  supplied  the  new  movement  with  unex- 
celled learning,  and  by  his  mildness  and  gentleness  sub- 
dued the  vehement  ardor  of  his  great  master.  He  and 
Luther  worked  side  by  side  lovingly  for  many  years. 
The  Reformation  era  has  no  character  more  beautiful. 
When  dying,  one  inquired  if  he  needed  anything ;  he 
replied,  "  Nothing  but  heaven,  therefore  ask  me  no 
more."     His  days  were  placid  to  the  last. 

In  1 52 1  the  emperor  Charles  V.  held  a  diet  at  Worms, 
and  in  the  April  of  that  year  Luther  presented  himself 
before  it  for  trial.  The  signs  were  ominous.  Not  only 
had  he  burned  the  pope's  bull,  but  he  had  also  violently 
attacked  the  whole  papal  system  in  his  book  the  Babylo- 
nian Captivity  of  the  Church  of  God,  published  October, 
1520.  Both  pope  and  emperor  were  incensed  at  him; 
the  greater  part  of  Christendom  hated  him.  But  his 
heart  did  not  fail  him:  he  knew  the  righteousness  of 


SAXON  AND   SWISS.  425 

his  cause.  As  he  walked  to  the  hall  of  judgment  he 
heard  the  weary  and^  oppressed  masses  crying,  "  Deny 
Him  not,  good  Martin ;  whosoever  denieth  him  before 
men  will  he  deny."  At  the  door  a  gray-haired  warrior 
tapped  him  on  the  shoulder :  ''  O  little  monk,  httle  monk  ! 
thou  art  marching  now  to  make  such  a  stand  as  was 
never  known  either  by  myself  or  many  another  officer 
in  the  hottest  battle.  If  thou  art  in  the  right  and  sure 
of  thy  cause,  go  forward  in  God's  name,  and  be  of 
good  cheer,  for  he  will  not  forsake  thee."  Another 
instant,  and  Luther  beholds  his  judges — an  emperor  and 
two  hundred  illustrious  prelates  and  princes.  He  looks 
round  upon  the  splendor,  faces  the  sea  of  enraged, 
fretting  virulence,  remembers  that  untold  thousands  of 
hearts  in  Europe  are  turning  to  him  their  bitter,  deadly 
thoughts;  but  he  does  not  flinch.  Neither  then  nor 
afterward,  for  he  had  to  appear  a  second  time.  Boldly 
does  he  vindicate  his  position :  "  If  Your  Imperial  Maj- 
esty and  Your  Graces  require  a  plain  answer,  I  will  give 
you  one  of  that  kind  without  horns  and  teeth.  It  is 
this :  I  must  be  convinced  either  by  the  witness  of  Scrip- 
ture or  by  clear  arguments,  for  I  do  not  trust  either  pope 
or  councils  by  themselves,  since  it  is  manifest  that  they 
have  often  erred  and  contradicted  themselves ;  for  I  am 
bound  by  the  Holy  Scriptures  which  I  have  quoted,  and 
my  conscience  is  held  by  the  word  of  God.  I  cannot, 
and  will  not,  retract  anything ;  for  to  act  against  con- 
science is  unsafe  and  unholy.  So  help  me  God !  Amen." 
Further  discussion  followed.  The  emperor  bade  the  dis- 
putants cease  ;  the  man  was  the  enemy  of  God.  Luther 
turned  his  face  to  the  imperial  throne,  and  replied,  "  I 
can    do    naught   else.     Here    stand   I.     God  help   me! 


426  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Amen."  He  was  taken  away  from  the  hall,  his  heart 
sad  within  him,  but  his  boldness  had  won  him  many 
friends.  His  own  sovereign,  the  elector  Frederick  the 
Wise,  went  entirely  over  to  his  side.  The  landgrave 
Philip  of  Hesse  took  him  by  the  hand,  saying,  "  If  you 
are  in  the  right,  doctor,  may  God  help  you  !"  Even 
Duke  Eric  of  Brunswick,  though  an  adherent  of  the 
mediaeval  party,  sent  him  a  can  of  beer  by  a  page. 
Luther  tasted  the  beer ;  then  he  said,  "  As  Duke  Eric 
has  this  day  remembered  me,  so  may  our  Lord  Jesus 
Christ  remember  him  in  his  last  struggle  !"  Eric  thought 
of  these  words  on  his  death-bed,  and  desired  a  page  who 
stood  by  to  refresh  him  with  the  consolations  of  the 
gospel. 

Luther  was  dismissed  from  Worms,  and  an  imperial 
decree  placed  him  under  the  ban  of  the  empire.  Hence- 
forth all  persons  were  forbid  to  house  him,  to  give  him 
food  or  drink,  or  to  aid  him  secretly  or  openly,  by  word 
or  by  work.  The  elector  Frederick  was  so  afraid  that 
evil  might  happen  him  that  he  contrived  his  arrest  on 
his  way  home.  Luther  was  seized  and  taken  by  friendly 
hands  to  the  castle  of  Wartburg,  near  Eisenach.  Here 
he  remained  from  May  5,  152 1,  to  March  3,  1522.  He 
was  disguised  as  a  knight,  wore  long  hair,  put  on  a 
sword  and  was  instructed  how  to  behave  as  a  gentle- 
man of  leisure.  Both  friends  and  foes  were  alarmed  at 
his  disappearance ;  some  said  treachery,  and  others  said 
a  sham.  When  Melanchthon  had  certain  information,  he 
was  transported  with  joy :  " Our  dear  father  is  yet  alive!" 
This  was  the  romantic  episode  of  the  Reformation  in 
Germany.  Luther's  room,  high  up  in  the  castle,  "  in 
the  region  of  the  birds,"  became  the  scene  of  terrible 


SAXON  AND  SWISS.  427 

Spiritual  conflict.  Here  the  devil  appeared,  mocking 
him  with  malicious  grimaces,  and  here  industrious  hands 
have  renewed  from  time  to  time  the  stain  upon  the  door 
said  to  have  been  made  when  Luther  flung  his  inkstand 
ai  the  prince  of  darkness.  It  seemed  to  Luther  that  the 
powers  of  evil  had  gathered  for  a  final  struggle,  but  he 
cried,  "  Though  I  stumble  often,  yet  the  hand  of  the 
Most  High  holds  me  up."  In  the  seclusion  he  wrote 
some  exquisite  expositions  of  portions  of  Scripture,  and, 
taking  Erasmus's  Greek  Testament,  he  translated  it  into 
the  German  vernacular.  Upon  this  popular  version  of 
the  word  of  God  he  instinctively  felt  the  Reformation 
depended,  and,  though  the  whole  Bible  was  not  finished 
till  1534,  the  part  done  circulated  far  and  wide.  At  the. 
same  time  Melanchthon  published  a  resume  of  Protest- 
ant doctrine  in  finished  style  and  scientific  form.  His 
Majesty  of  England,  Henry  VIII.,  also  put  out  a  book 
against  Luther's  treatise  on  the  seven  sacraments,  for 
which  he  received  from  the  Reformer  a  crushing  re- 
joinder and  from  the  pope  the  title  of  "  Defender  of  the 
Faith."  By  the  day  that  Luther  left  Wartburg  the  liter- 
ature for  and  against  the  new  movement  had  attained 
enormous  proportions.  Everywhere  men  were  eager  to 
know  the  latest  argument  on  either  side.  Excesses,  too, 
had  developed,  and  hot-headed  partisans  had  gone  far 
beyond  the  lines  which  the  master  sanctioned ;  but  the 
fact  was  clear  as  the  sunlight :  the  papacy  was  not  as  it 
had  been  only  five  short  years  earlier.  Its  power  was 
broken  and  Protestantism  had  struck  its  roots  deep  in 
the  earth. 

In  the  mean  while,  among  the  mountains  of  Switzer- 
land a  similar  work  was  going  on.     The  central  figure 


428  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

of  the  Swiss  school  was  Uh'ich  Zwingle,  born  of  a  good 
family  at  Wildhaus,  in  Toggenberg,  in  1484.  After 
studying  at  Berne  and  Vienna  he  became  schoolmaster 
in  Basle,  where  Thomas  Wyttenbach,  one  of  the  first 
pioneers  of  evangelical  truth  in  Switzerland,  was  lectur- 
ing in  theology.  This  man,  before  Luther  had  spoken, 
had  declared  against  many  abuses  and  pointed  men  to 
Christ.  Around  him  gathered  some  earnest  spirits ; 
among  them  were  Zwingle  and  one  who  afterward  be- 
came Zwingle's  loving  and  faithful  friend,  Leo  Juda  of 
Rapperswyl.  Leo  was  to  Zwingle  what  Melanchthon 
was  to  Luther,  an  amiable,  kind,  gentle  and  merciful 
associate,  a  lover  of  music  and  a  warm  adherent  of  the 
"  new  learning."  Together  the  two  proceeded  M.  A.  In 
1512,  having  received  orders,  Zwingle  went  as  pastor  to 
Glarus  and  Leo  Juda  to  St.  Pilt,  in  Alsace.  At  first 
Zwingle  preached  a  moral  reformation;  in  15  14  he  met 
Erasmus  at  Basle,  and  not  only  caught  from  him  the 
spirit  of  the  new  life,  but  also  made  with  him  a  lasting 
friendship.  Two  years  later  he  became  pastor  of  Ein- 
siedeln,  the  abbot  of  which  place  was  already  far  on  the 
way  to  the  Reformation.  There  Zwingle  began  to 
preach  that  simple  gospel  of  Christ  which  was  destined 
so  soon  to  win  the  hearts  of  his  countrymen.  In  15 18 
he  denounced  the  sale  of  indulgences.  The  next  year 
he  was  made  pastor  of  Zurich,  and  in  a  little  time  Zu- 
rich was  the  centre  of  the  Swiss  school.  Up  to  this 
time  he  had  read  nothing  of  Luther's ;  soon  he  found 
how  greatly  he  differed  from  him.  The  difference  was 
natural.  Zwingle  excelled  Luther  by  his  firmness  and 
security  of  judgment  in  individual  cases.  He  was  always 
moderate  whilst  Luther  was  sometimes  fanatical,  and 


SAXOiV  AND   SWISS.  429 

mild  whilst  Luther  was  passionate  to  the  extreme. 
Luther  had  more  imagination,  more  buoyancy  of  mind, 
than  Zvvingle,  and  less  common  sense.  The  one  was  a 
German,  and  therefore  a  monarchist ;  the  other  a  Swiss, 
and  therefore  a  repubh'can.  The  one,  a  monk,  full  of 
contemplation,  intuitive,  had  fed  in  the  cloisters  upon 
the  mystic  Augustine ;  the  other,  a  secular  priest,  ob- 
servant and  reflective,  had  formed  his  mind  upon  the 
genial  classics,  the  models  of  the  ancient  world.  Two 
such  men  could  not  see  eye  to  eye  nor  become  cordial 
associates. 

In  nothing  was  the  divergence  between  the  two  divines 
and  their  respective  schools  more  shown  than  in  the  doc- 
trines concerning  the  Eucharist.  Luther's  poetical  nature 
led  him  to  see  more  in  the  sacrament  than  did  Zwingle's 
reflective  and  critical  mind.  He  could  not  admit  that 
the  verb  "  is  "  meant  "  signify  "  or  that  the  Supper  was 
a  bare  memorial  of  an  absent  Lord.  He  claimed  that 
while  the  elements  remain  the  same  after  consecration 
in  both  accident  and  substance,  in,  with  and  under  them 
is  the  real  body  of  Christ.  The  communicant  was  so  lit- 
erally and  corporeally  united  with  Christ  as  to  be  sure 
of  the  resurrection,  and  on  the  altar  the  Saviour  was 
objectively  present.  To  Zwingle  this  spirituo-corporeal 
manducatipn  was  a  contradiction  in  terms,  like  **  wooden- 
iron."  He  could  not  understand  a  physical  or  a  real 
presence  on  the  altar  of  a  body  which  had  ascended 
into  heaven.  Nor  did  he  believe  in  such  consequences 
as  flowing  from  participation.  A  bitter  dispute  accord- 
ingly ensued  between  Saxon  and  Swiss,  resulting  in  the 
more  exact  definition  of  their  varying  positions.  But 
Zwingle    set   forth    this   beautiful    illustration:    "As   a 


430  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  V, 

flower  is  more  glorious  when  entwined  in  the  wreath 
of  a  bride  than  it  would  be  elsewhere,  and  yet,  so  far  as 
its  bare  material  is  concerned,  is  the  selfsame  thing 
whatsoever  its  position ;  and  as  a  man  who  has  stolen 
the  signet  of  a  king  is  held  responsible  for  more  than 
the  mere  value  of  the  gold  of  which  it  is  composed, 
though  it  differs  not  in  material  from  any  other  gold 
ring, — so  in  the  Lord's  Supper  the  bread  is  of  one 
substance  with  all  other  bread,  but  the  use  and  dignity 
of  the  Supper  confers  upon  it  a  loftiness  of  character 
which  causes  it  to  differ  from  other  bread." 

So  in  the  sixty-seven  articles  drawn  up  for  the  public 
disputation  held  in  Zurich,  January  29,  1523,  Zwingle 
went  farther  than  Luther's  theses  had  gone.  The  arti- 
cles were  short  and  never  more  than  of  local  authority, 
but  they  were  full  of  Christ  as  the  only  Saviour  and 
Mediator,  upheld  the  Bible  as  the  sole  rule  of  faith,  and 
attacked  the  papal  primacy,  the  mass,  invocation  of 
saints,  meritoriousness  of  human  works,  fasts,  pilgrim- 
ages, celibacy  and  purgatory.  Zwingle  defended  the 
document  in  the  presence  of  the  civil  magistrate  and 
about  six  hundred  persons  with  such  success  that  the 
magistrate  ordered  all  the  ministers  of  the  canton  to 
preach  nothing  but  what  they  could  prove  from  the 
gospel.  Another  disputation,  before  nine  hundred  peo- 
ple, was  held  the  following  October,  and  a  third  in  Jan- 
uary, 1524.  Then  did  the  canton  abolish  the  old  and 
establish  the  Reformed  faith.  In  1528,  Zwingle  pub- 
lished ten  theses  for  a  disputation  to  be  held  that  year 
at  Berne.  Their  tenor  is  Christ  the  Head  of  the  Church 
and  the  only  satisfaction  for  sin ;  no  corporeal  presence 
of  Christ  in  the  mass,  no  sacrifice  of  the  mass  and  no 


SAXON  AND  SWISS.  43  I 

purgatory;  image-worship  contrary  to  Scripture;  mar- 
riage free  to  all  men,  and  the  Church  consisting  only  of 
the  true  and  obedient  children  of  the  word.  An  attempt 
was  made  in  1529  to  bring,  the  Swiss  and  Saxon  schools 
together.  Seventeen  articles  were  drawn  up  at  Schwa- 
bach,  but  they  only  emphasized  the  differences.  Two 
years  later  the  Reformed  and  unreformed  cantons  of 
Switzerland  went  to  war  with  each  other.  Zwingle 
marched  with  the  troops  of  Zurich,  and  was  slain  in 
battle. 

Other  men  were  in  the  front  of  the  struggle  with 
Rome.  Leo  Juda  had  gone  in  1523  to  St.  Peter's 
church  in  Zurich,  where  he  remained  till  his  death,  in 
1542.  His  voice  and  his  courage  obtained  for  him  the 
title  of  *'  Master  Lion."  CEcolampadius  had  also  won 
a  high  degree  among  the  brethren.  He  was  born  in 
1482  at  Weinsberg,  in  Franconia,  and,  after  studying 
law  in  Italy  and  theology  in  Germany,  in  1515,  at  Basle, 
met  Erasmus  and  assisted  him  in  his  Greek  Testament, 
Association  with  this  great  scholar  had  its  effect.  CEco- 
lampadius went  to  Augsburg  cathedral,  but  his  plain 
preaching  was  too  much.  He  spent  two  years  in  a 
monastery,  then  left  it  confessing  that  he  had  "  lost  the 
monk,  but  found  Christ."  He  proclaimed  the  Refor- 
mation in  1523  at  Basle,  much  to  the  displeasure  of 
Erasmus.  There,  in  1525,  he  caused  the  mass  to  be 
abolished,  and  in  1528  the  Reformed  doctrine  to  be 
established.  His  character  was  neither  so  imposing  as 
Luther's  nor  so  energetic  as  Zwingle's,  and,  though 
something  like  Melanchthon,  he  did  not  attain  to  his 
greatness.  But  he  was  conspicuous  for  his  fidelity  to 
God  and  to  man,  and  his  preaching  had  a  permanent 


432  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

effect.  So  highly  respected  was  he  that  the  people  of 
Zurich  selected  him  to  follow  Zwingle.  In  vain ;  the 
death  of  Zwingle  broke  his  heart :  he  died  the  same 
year.  On  the  last  night  of  his  life  ten  clergymen  were 
with  him ;  he  said,  "  I  will  tell  you  something  new :  I 
shall  soon  be  with  the  Lord  Jesus."  The  day  was  just 
breaking  when  he  passed  away. 

The  successor  of  Zwingle  was  Heinrich  Bullinger. 
He  was  born  in  1504  at  Bremgarten,  near  Zurich,  and 
when  twelve  years  old  was  sent  to  school  at  Emmerich, 
in  the  Netherlands,  where,  like  Luther,  he  earned  his 
bread  by  singing  from  door  to  door.  At  the  University 
of  Cologne  he  met  with  the  writings  of  Luther  and 
Melanchthon;  and  when,  in  1522,  he  returned  home, 
he  had  made  much  progress  in  the  study  of  the  Scrip- 
tures. He  obtained  employment  as  a  teacher  at  the 
Cistercian  monastery  of  Cappel,  under  the  pious  and 
enlightened  Wolfgang  Joner.  The  boys  he  instructed 
in  the  Latin  classics ;  the  adults,  in  the  writmgs  of  the 
Reformers.  The  abbot,  though  a  strict  churchman,  was 
won  by  the  youth  of  nineteen  to  the  gospel.  Zwingle 
and  GEcolampadius  also  became  Bullinger's  warm 
friends,  and  in  1531,  when  both  were  dead,  he  was 
made  pastor  of  Zurich.  His  ministry  there  continued 
to  1575,  when  he  died.  He  was  a  powerful  and  volu- 
minous writer  and  an  earnest  preacher.  To  the  English 
refugees  during  the  Marian  persecution  he  showed  great 
hospitality,  and  from  him  they  learned  many  of  those 
views  which  later  gave  rise  to  Puritanism.  All  the  im- 
perial and  papal  power  was  exerted  to  crush  him ;  his 
days  were  full  of  tribulation  and  family  sorrow,  but  he 
died  in  peace,  highly  esteemed  among  men. 


SAXON  AND   SWISS.  433 

After  Luther  left  Wartburg  his  prominence  in  the 
Saxon  Reformation  grew  less  distinct.  The  work  had 
outstripped  him.  Not  that  he  labored  less,  but  there 
were  more  in  the  field.  So  powerful,  indeed,  had  the 
Reformed  party  become  that  in  1530  the  emperor  com- 
manded the  Lutheran  princes  to  draw  up  a  statement 
of  their  faith  and  present  it  at  a  diet  to  be  held  in  Augs- 
burg, in  Bavaria,  in  order  that,  the  differences  between 
Protestant  and  Catholic  being  settled,  the  empire  might 
unite  in  a  war  against  the  Turk.  This  confession — or, 
as  it  was  first  called,  ''  Apology  " — was  prepared  princi- 
pally by  Melanchthon,  and  was  remarkably  moderate 
and  conciliatory,  manifesting  a  desire  rather  to  keep 
within  the  boundaries  of  the  Latin  Church  than  to 
break  away.  It  was  earnest,  devout,  dignified,  scriptural 
and  mild,  defensive  and  not  aggressive,  and  pleaded  for 
toleration  and  peace.  There  are  twenty-nine  articles, 
the  first  twenty-two  relating  to  matters  of  faith  and 
being  positive  or  dogmatical,  and  the  other  relating  to 
ecclesiastical  or  disciplinary  abuses  and  being  negative 
and  polemic  or  apologetic.  In  view  of  the  troubles  of 
the  previous  thirteen  years,  Hagenbach  says,  "  In  re- 
garding this  instrument  we  seem  to  be  standing  on  the 
borders  of  a  limpid  lake  the  wild  tumult  of  whose  late 
storm-tossed  waters  has  subsided,  and  in  which  the  sun, 
once  more  issuing  from  the  clouds,  is  mirrored,  though 
the  agitated  waves  are  not  yet  entirely  at  rest."  It 
became  the  model  of  most  subsequent  Protestant  con- 
fessions of  faith.  At  the  diet,  held  in  June,  even  the 
opponents  were  surprised  at  its  moderation,  and  the 
bishop  of  Augsburg  is  said  to  have  declared  privately 
that   it   was   pure   truth.      But   when   examined   more 

28 


434  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

closely,  the  diet  refused  to  accept  it ;  compromise  was 
found  impossible,  and  finally  the  one  side  resolved  that 
the  other  should  either  change  their  mind  or  suffer 
extermination,  and  the  other  side  determined  that  by 
the  grace  of  God  neither   should  be  their  lot. 

Dark  days  were  yet  in  store  for  Germany,  but  the 
work  of  Luther  was  not  to  be  overthrown.  Men  com- 
plained that  his  language  was  strong  and  violent,  and 
not  unfrequently  coarse  and  rude.  But  he  who  is 
struggling  for  life  must  either  win  or  die.  Luther  was 
rent  and  torn  by  the  storm ;  he  rises  in  his  heroic  might 
to  seize  and  guide  the  very  winds.  He  could  not  avoid 
striking  hard  blows;  none  other  would  the  age  feel. 
There  was  much  in  his  words  and  works  faulty,  but, 
like  mingled  grain  cast  into  the  soil,  that  which  is  good 
and  true  springs  up  and  bears  fruit,  and  that  which  is 
worthless  dies  and  passes  away.  There  was,  too, 
another  side  to  Luther.  In  1525,  eight  years  after  his 
quarrel  with  Tetzel,  he  married  Catherine  von  Bora,  and 
never  was  home-life  more  hallowed  and  delightful. 
There  his  heart  of  love  and  kindness  brought  out  the 
sweetest  graces.  His  taste  for  music  was  as  great  as 
his  trust  in  prayer  was  wonderful.  His  was  not  a 
religion  which  would  stifle  affection  or  a  piety  which 
needed  force  to  keep  it  alive.  He  was  in  every  sense 
natural — stern  and  violent  in  storm,  beautiful  and  lovely 
in  calm.  Before  evil  his  soul  grew  awful  and  terrible,  a 
whirlwind  of  furious  scorn,  an  utterer  of  lightnings 
which  scorched,  burnt,  killed ;  standing  by  the  death- 
bed of  his  darling  little  Magdalene,  he  pleads  that  the 
child  may  live,  and  then  with  subdued  and  trembling 
thought  he   follows  her   gentle   soul  winging   its  way 


SAXON  AND   SWISS.  435 

through  unknown  realms  till  at  last  it  rests  upon  the 
bosom  of  her  Lord.  Those  tender  virtues  grow  like 
ivy  over  his  strong  walls ;  they  are  as  the  light  which 
gleams  through  pent-up  window  and  iron-barred  gate. 
He  sets  aside  the  heavy  tome  and  forgets  the  burning 
controversy,  and  with  little  children  romps  and  plays, 
and  with  friends  and  neighbors  gossips  and  sings  songs. 
The  hymns  which  he  wrote  are  still  familiar.  His  ex- 
ample of  frequent  prayer  and  meditation  can  never  be 
forgotten,  and  they  who  love  him  think  not  of  the 
violence  and  the  harshness  when  they  remember  his 
affectionate,  constant  friendship,  his  sympathy  for  the 
helpless  and  suffering,  his  appreciation  of  human  pleas- 
ures, his  longing  to  make  all  men  happy  and  his  abso- 
lute trust  in  God.  Moreover,  in  all  that  he  did  there 
was  a  lack  of  self-consciousness.  He  was  thoroughly 
honest — as  much  so  in  his  disputes  with  Zwingle  and 
his  rebukes  of  Satan  as  in  his  confession  of  personal 
sin.  He  abhorred  the  affectation  of  pious  feelings,  the 
assumption  of  righteousness  and  the  assertion  of  ex- 
traordinary experiences.  If  in  his  youth  he  desired  to 
be  a  saint,  in  his  mature  years  he  was  content  to  forget 
self  and  the  future  of  self,  and  to  rest  in  the  shadow  of 
God.  Thus  by  his  sincerity  has  he  won  the  hearts  of 
men. 

Luther  died  in  1546,  at  the  place  where  he  was  born. 
In  the  January  of  that  year  he  journeyed  through  many 
perils  from  Wittenberg  to  Eisleben.  The  freshets  were 
high,  and  once  he-  narrowly  escaped  drowning.  Ex- 
posure brought  on  a  severe  cold.  But  he  labored  in- 
cessantly at  the  work  before  him,  settling  affairs  of  the 
Church  and  of  the  princes  and  preaching  four  times. 


^•t  ■  >T  tTfjBii; 


436  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  Y. 

Then  he  took  to  his  bed,  and  his  friends  saw  the  coming 
of  the  end.  To  the  last  he  testified  his  adherence  to 
the  faith  he  had  taught.  "  My  heavenly  Father,"  he 
cried,  "  my  eternal  and  merciful  God,  thou  hast  revealed 
to  me  thy  dear  Son,  our  Lord  Jesus  Christ ;  him  have  I 
taught,  him  have  I  acknowledged,  him  I  love  and  honor 
as  my  dear  Saviour  and  Redeemer."  About  the  time 
of  sunsetting,  February  18,  he  passed  peacefully  away. 
His  remains  were  taken  to  Wittenberg,  where  Melanch- 
thon,  who  survived  him  fourteen  years,  pronounced  his 
eulogy.  "  Alas  !"  exclaimed  the  faithful  friend ;  **  the 
leader  and  chariot  of  Israel  are  taken  away ;  departed  is 
he  who  hath  led  the  Church  in  this  last  hoary  age  of 
the  world !"  Now  the  two  men  rest  side  by  side. 
Rome  questioned  their  mission,  among  other  things, 
because  they  had  wrought  no  miracles.  Even  Luther, 
it  was  said,  was  not  able  to  restore  a  dead  dog  to  life. 
But  what  greater  attestation  of  divine  approval  could 
there  be  than  the  work  itself?  He  found  Europe  dead, 
and  he  left  it  alive ;  he  saw  Christendom  languishing  in 
the  stupor  of  mediaevalism,  and  when  he  spoke  all  men 
listened.  That  the  soil  had  been  prepared  and  the  age 
made  ready  for  the  change  does  not  detract  from  the 
glory  of  the  man  who  gathered  up  the  forces  and 
struck  the  shattering  blow. 

Henceforth  it  was  impossible  for  the  Latin  Church  to 
avoid  some  efforts  at  reconstruction.  If  it  stood  still, 
the  Reformation  would  sweep  it  away.  Therefore  the 
pope  summoned  the  Council  of  Trent.  Its  first  sessions 
were  held  in  the  January  of  1546;  when  it  closed,  in 
1563,  it  had  established  the  doctrinal  system  which  still 
holds  modern    Rome.      A   definite   bulwark  was   thus 


SAXON  AND   SWISS.  437 

raised  against  Protestantism,  and  able  scholars  came  to 
the  defence  of  the  long  massive  line  of  walls.  Nor  was 
this  all.  In  the  year  1491,  at  the  castle  of  Loyola,  in 
the  county  of  Guipuzcoa,  in  Spain,  was  born  Don  Inigo 
Lopez  de  Recalde.  His  youth  was  spent  after  the  fash- 
ion of  the  noble-born ;  he  became  an  accomplished 
knight  and  a  versatile  courtier.  A  wound  in  the  foot 
received  at  the  defence  of  Pampeluna  against  the  French, 
in  1 52 1,  occasioned  his  confinement  to  his  chamber. 
Here  he  read  of  St.  Francis  of  Assisi  and  St.  Dominic, 
and  from  thence  he  repaired  to  the  lonely  monastery  of 
Manresa,  resolved  to  emulate  their  deeds  and  to  give 
himself  up  to  the  service  of  the  Church.  There  he  re- 
mained some  time.  Later  he  went  on  a  pilgrimage 
to  Jerusalem,  then  returned  to  Spain,  and  at  the  age  of 
thirty-three  took  his  place  among  the  schoolboys  of 
Barcelona.  But  neither  grammar  nor  the  elegant  writ- 
ings of  Erasmus  had  for  him  the  absorbing  attraction 
of  Thomas  a  Kempis.  Like  Luther,  he  delighted  in 
the  mystics  and  the  ascetics  ;  and  when  Christ  drew 
near  to  him,  it  was  not,  as  with  Luther,  in  the  written 
word,  but  in  the  mystery  of  the  altar-sacrament.  He 
received  M.  A.  at  Paris  in  1534,  and  then  began  to  form 
a  society  which  should  have  as  its  first  object  the  pres- 
ervation of  the  faith,  and  as  its  first  rule  unconditional 
obedience  to  the  Roman  see.  Seven  men  united  in  the 
vows  August  15,  1534;  others  joined  them,  and  together, 
at  Venice,  in  1537,  they  were  ordained  priests.  In  1540, 
Paul  III.  approved  of  their  order.  It  spread  everywhere, 
and  by  Francis  Xavier  was  established  in  India.  Schools 
and  hospitals  were  founded  ;  churches  were  built ;  intel- 
lectual  culture   was   encouraged;   and  when,    in    1556, 


438  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Ignatius  Loyola  died,  the  Society  of  Jesus  could  boast 
of  one  thousand  members  and  one  hundred  colleges. 
Outside  of  this  order  also  arose  two  remarkable  men — the 
Florentine,  Philip  of  Neri,  born  in  15 15  and  died  in  1595, 
and  the  Spaniard,  Peter  of  Alcantara,  born  in  1499  and 
died  in  1562.  They  were  distinguished  for  their  piety 
and  devotion.  Beside  them  is  St.  Theresa.  The  seri- 
ousness of  her  youth  was  deepened  by  the  influence  of 
the  Confessions  of  St.  Augustine ;  she  became  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  pure  and  severe  ascetics,  and  when  she 
died,  in  1582,  at  the  age  of  sixty-seven,  was  known  as 
one  of  the  holiest  of  women.  Thus  to  the  rescue  of  the 
old  religion  came  the  forces  of  positive  theology,  of  ener- 
getic association  and  of  unquestionable  sanctity.  When 
they  were  well  in  the  field,  the  progress  of  the  Reforma- 
tion was  effectually  stayed ;  from  that  day  nothing  was 
regained  and  nothing  was  lost.  The  relative  position  of 
both  parties  has  not  changed  since :  both  hold  their 
own  ;  neither  makes  any  lasting  impression  upon  the 
other.  This  is  one  of  the  most  curious  phenomena  in 
Christendom.  There  are  Protestant  missions  in  Italy, 
and  there  are  Roman  missions  in  England ;  both  claim 
a  certain  progress,  and  both  are  sanguine  of  the  future ; 
but  the  prevailing  type  of  religion  in  both  countries  re- 
mains the  same.  Even  Switzerland,  the  home  of  Zwin- 
gle,  and  Germany,  the  home  of  Luther,  are  unchanged ; 
side  by  side  are  Reformed  and  unreformed  provinces, 
to-day  as  they  were  three  hundred  years  ago.  Possibly 
the  secret  lies  in  the  fact  that  even  Rome  exalts  the 
Christ,  that  even  she  listened  to  the  voice  of  Luther  and 
abandoned  sufficient  that  was  derogatory  to  that  Christ 
to  set  him  forth  as  the  Redeemer  and  the  Consoler  of 


SAXON  AND  SWISS.  439 

men.  Certainly  she  manifests  a  sincerity  she  had  not 
in  the  days  when  Erasmus  uttered  his  pleasantries,  and 
when  Rabelais  laughed  his  scorn  at  money-grasping 
pontiffs  and  indifferent,  dissolute  priests. 

If  Erasmus  made  ready  the  way  for  the  Reformation, 
to  John  Calvin  fell  the  work  of  giving  it  its  most  perma- 
nent form.  This  incomparable  man,  as  Richard  Hooker 
calls  him — this  illustrious  person,  who,  according  to 
Bishop  Andrewes,  is  never  to  be  mentioned  without  a 
preface  of  the  highest  honor — was  born  July  10,  1509, 
at  Noyon,  in  Picardy.  His  father  was  well-to-do,  saga- 
cious, experienced  and  prudent;  his  mother  was  pos- 
sessed of  many  personal  attractions  and  a  vivid  and 
earnest  piety.  His  boyhood  was  marked  with  strong 
religious  tendencies.  At  Paris  he  outstripped  his  com- 
petitors in  philosophical  studies,  learned  that  pure  and 
idiomatic  style  which  characterizes  his  Latin  writings, 
and  from  reading  the  sacred  Scriptures  imbibed  doubts 
concerning  the  old  faith.  He  went  to  Orleans  to  study 
law ;  so  hard  and  successfully  did  he  work  that  the 
university  made  him  a  doctor  without  demanding  the 
usual  fees,  but  he  gathered  those  germs  of  disease  which 
eventually  brought  on  his  early  death.  Thence  he  pro- 
ceeded to  attend  the  lectures  of  the  learned  Alciati  at 
Bourges,  where  he  met  the  German  Volmar,  professor 
of  Greek  and  an  adherent  of  the  Reformed  party.  Twelve 
years  had  now  passed  since  Luther  had  published  his 
theses  ;  Germany  was  astir,  and  in  France  many  were 
listening  favorably  to  the  new  teaching.  Volmar  con- 
firmed Calvin  in  his  attachment.  The  young  man  joined 
the  secret  sympathizers  of  the  Reformation  at  Bourges 
and  taught  them  in  private.     He  preached  also  in  the 


440  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  Y. 

neighborhood,  converting  and  strengthening  many,  and 
by  his  depth  of  knowledge  and  gravity  of  style  winning 
the  admiration  of  all.  In  1529  he  returned  to  Paris, 
where  he  devoted  his  time  to  theology,  but  also  pub- 
lished Seneca's  De  Clementia  with  an  elaborate  commen- 
tary in  his  own  pure,  terse  Latin.  Having  broken  utterly 
with  the  old  faith,  he  was  obliged  to  create  a  new  system 
within  himself  By  the  time  he  was  twenty-four  he 
stood  at  the  head  of  the  Reformation  in  France ;  then, 
in  1533,  came  the  trial.  A  new  regent  of  the  Sorbonne, 
Nicholas  Cop  by  name,  had  to  deliver  an  oration  before 
the  university.  Calvin  composed  it  for  him,  and  so 
strongly  was  it  in  favor  of  the  Reformation  that  both 
men  found  it  expedient  to  leave  the  country.  Cop  went 
to  Basle ;  Calvin,  in  the  guise  of  a  vinedresser,  fled  to 
Margaret,  queen  of  Navarre,  at  whose  court,  under  an 
assumed  name,  he  remained  for  some  time.  Then,  at 
the  risk  of  his  life,  he  promised  to  hold  a  disputation  at 
Paris  with  Servetus ;  he  went,  but  the  Spanish  heretic 
evaded  him,  and  Calvin  was  obliged  to  flee  to  Basle. 
There  he  wrote,  and  in  1536  pubhshed,  his  famous  In- 
stitute of  Chistian  Religioji — a  work  wonderful  for  its 
theology  and  Latinity,  and  still  more  wonderful  as  being 
the  production  of  a  young  man.  In  his  lifetime  he 
brought  out  many  editions,  none,  however,  materially 
differing  from  the  first.  The  book  exerted  a  most  pro- 
digious influence  upon  the  opinions  and  the  practices 
of  both  contemporaries  and  posterity.  In  1537  he  was 
constrained  to  settle  at  Geneva.  The  ecclesiastical 
troubles,  however,  were  too  great,  and  he  soon  left  for 
Strasburg.  There  he  married.  At  the  diet  at  Ratisbon 
he  met  Melanchthon  ;  then,  in  I54i,he  returned  to  Ge- 


SAXON  AND  SWISS.  44 1 

neva  and  proceeded  with  his  measures  of  reform.  Ser- 
vetus  again  appeared  on  the  scene,  openly  proclaiming 
his  heresy  and  exciting  much  opposition.  He  was 
arrested,  tried  and  sentenced  to  death.  Calvin  sought 
for  a  mitigation  of  the  judgment,  but  the  authorities 
were  immovable  ;  even  Melanchthon  affirmed  its  justice 
and  necessity,  and  the  unfortunate  Spaniard  was  com- 
mitted to  the  flames.  Soon  the  Genevans  learned  to 
obey  their  spiritual  ruler.  When  they  ventured  to  in- 
sist upon  a  notorious  offender  being  admitted  to  the 
Lord's  Supper,  Calvin  declared,  "  I  will  suffer  death 
sooner  than  with  my  own  hand  give  the  holy  of  the 
Lord  to  such  convicted  despisers  of  God." 

Calvin  was  of  middle  stature ;  his  complexion  was 
pallid  and  dark ;  his  eyes  were  clear  and  lustrous ;  his 
nerve  and  will  were  iron ;  and,  unlike  Luther,  who  in 
the  latter  years  of  his  life  became  stout,  his  person  was 
spare  and  thin.  He  was  startlingly  severe;  yet  when 
unruffled,  he  exposed  an  urbanity  and  a  complaisance 
most  winning.  Nor  did  he  care  so  much  to  brandish 
the  war-club  as  to  drive  home  to  the  hilt  the  keen  blade 
of  scholarship  and  logic.  Nation  had  he  none,  no  earth- 
ly fatherland,  as  had  Luther  and  Zwingle ;  his  vocation, 
he  thought,  was  to  gather  all  into  the  City  of  God  and 
to  recognize  none  but  the  new  creature  in  Christ  Jesus. 
He  had  no  poetry,  and  little  humor ;  no  sense  of  the 
ludicrous,  and  no  aptness  at  pleasantries  such  as  appear 
in  Master  Martin's  Table-Talk.  The  same  sternness 
which  distinguishes  his  divinity  like  the  cold  gray  face 
of  a  winter-seized  rock  marks  his  life,  but,  as  within  the 
rock  may  be  the  fine  gold  and  underlying  the  divinity 
are  truths  beautiful  and  soul-sustaining,  so  the  life  had 


442  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY, 

more  than  appeared  on  the  surface.  There  was  a  piety 
none  the  less  real  because  unemotional  and  unpoetical. 
The  trust  in  God  and  the  love  of  Christ  were  not  marred 
because  wrapped  within  the  folds  of  unflinching  and  sys- 
tematic doctrines.  He  had  a  loving  impulse  to  help  and 
to  advise  on  every  side,  to  visit  the  sick  and  the  needy, 
to  guide  the  embarrassed  and  to  be  the  friend  of  all. 
The  flowers  of  Christianity  he  could  not  scatter:  he 
knew  little  of  their  grace,  and  perhaps  thought  their 
beauty  perishable  and  their  fragrance  vain  ;  but  he  had 
precious  pearls  and  gems  to  give — the  assurance  God- 
ward,  the  immediate  providence,  the  absolute  trust — and 
with  a  quiet  hand  he  smoothed  the  brow  on  which  his 
Master  should  set  the  unfading  diadem.  His  industry 
was  marvellous ;  compared  with  the  other  Reformers, 
he  might  have  said,  "  I  labored  more  abundantly  than 
they  all."  His  influence  also  went  farther;  beyond 
Switzerland  and  France  it  was  paramount  in  Scotland 
and  powerful  in  England. 

What  Thomas  Aquinas  did  for  mediaeval  Christian- 
ity and  the  Council  of  Trent  for  Roman,  John  Calvin  did 
for  the  Reformed.  He  gave  it  shape  and  distinctness. 
The  outline  became  clear  and  the  substance  solid.  To 
trace  out  the  development  would  be  too  long  a  task; 
only  upon  the  doctrine  of  the  holy  communion  may  a 
word  be  said.  In  that  Calvin  differed  from  both  Luther 
and  Zwingle.  He  claimed  that  in  the  consecrated  ele- 
ments Christ's  body  is  present — not  substantially,  but 
dynamically  and  efficaciously.  As  the  sun  is  in  the  sky, 
but  its  heat  and  light  are  here  on  earth,  so  Christ,  though 
literally  in  heaven,  is  also  potentially  within  this  sacra- 
ment.    The  bread  and  the  wine  therefore  are  not  merely 


SAXON  AND   SWISS.  443 

signs  or  symbols,  but  bread  and  wine  plus  this  dynamical 
presence.  They  become  the  instruments  by  which  Christ 
effects  his  purpose  in  the  soul.  Themselves  useless,  the 
power  lies  in  the  virtue  added  to  them.  The  bullet  does 
not  kill,  but  the  will  which  sends  it,  operating  with  it ; 
and  so  the  will  of  Christ,  uniting  with  these  sacred  ma- 
terials, gives  the  vivifying  might,  the  strengthening  grace 
and  the  supernatural  consequences  of  immediate  and 
physical  communion  with  him.  This  view  of  the  Real 
Presence  greatly  influenced  the  English  Reformers,  if, 
indeed,  they  did  not  adopt  it  and  graft  it  in  their  Liturgy. 
Nor  did  Calvin  object  to  a  liturgy  or  to  bishops.  He 
opposed  the  first  Edwardine  book,  but  he  entered  into 
negotiations  with  England  for  the  establishment  of  epis- 
copacy in  Switzerland.  The  Jesuits  intercepted  the  let- 
ters, and  they  did  not  come  to  light  till  after  Calvin 
was  dead. 

Twenty-eight  years  of  ceaseless  toil  told  upon  a  consti- 
tution never  strong  and  weakened  by  frequent  illnesses. 
In  February,  1564,  Calvin  preached  his  last  sermon. 
On  Easter  day  he  was  carried  to  church  and  received 
the  sacrament  from  the  hand  of  Beza.  Lying  in  the 
arms  of  that  same  faithful  Beza,  in  the  evening  of  May 
27  he  quietly  died.  "  At  the  moment  when  the  sun 
went  down,"  says  the  good  Theodore,  "  the  greatest 
light  that  ever  shone  for  the  benefit  of  God's  Church 
on  earth,  returned  to  heaven,"  The  grief  of  his  friends 
was  great ;  even  his  enemies  bore  witness  to  his  disinter- 
ested and  unselfish  spirit.  Pius  IV.  said  that  the  strength 
of  the  heretic  consisted  in  the  fact  that  money  had  no 
power  over  him.  His  body  was  laid  in  the  grave  with- 
out the  slightest  ostentation.     Only  lately  a  black  stone 


444  READIJSTGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY, 

was  placed  on  the  spot  beneath  which  the  Reformer's 
dust  is  supposed  to  be. 

Such  were  the  men  who  carried  out  the  great  change 
of  the  sixteenth  century  on  the  Continent.  They  were 
no  strangers  to  the  old  system  against  which  earlier 
prophets  had  lifted  up  their  voice,  but  sons,  cherished, 
trained  and,  until  they  spoke,  honored  and  admired. 
The  age  had  no  greater  scholars — none  that  left  upoji 
it  a  more  lasting  impression.  Largely  in  the  university 
they  gained  their  learning,  some  of  them  in  the  cloister 
their  piety ;  they  wrote,  preached  and  printed ;  they 
erred  as  all  men  err  and  differed  one  from  another,  and 
they  made  their  generation  splendid  in  heroism  and  eter- 
nal in  power.  If  they  went  out  from  the  great  historic 
Church,  it  was  because  the  great  historic  Church  had  no 
room  for  them.  When  the  Vatican  awoke,  it  was  too 
late :  the  Reformers  had  gone  and  half  of  Western 
Christendom  was  lost. 


CHAPTER    XV. 

?ljenrj),  WLoIm^  anlr  dtxmmtx. 

"WESTERN  Christendom  in  the  Middle  Ages  consisted 
of  a  confederation  of  churches  recognizing  the  Roman 
see  as  the  centre  of  unity  and  the  bishop  of  Rome  as 
the  overbishop  of  the  world  and  the  vicegerent  of  God 
on  earth.  For  long  the  individuality  of  the  national 
Church  was  neither  destroyed  nor  ignored,  though  the 
tendency  was  not  so  much  to  develop  either  it  or  the 
confederation  as  to  absorb  both  in  the  Roman  Church. 
One  privilege  after  another  was  given  up,  until  national 
rights  were  entirely  lost  and  an  Italian  diocese  became 
the  ruler  of  all  the  dioceses — or,  rather,  extended  its 
bounds  to  the  limits  of  Christendom  and  reduced  the 
once  independent  or  allied  provinces  and  sees  to  subdi- 
visions of  its  own  territory.  Before  this  absorption  had 
been  attained  on  the  Continent,  the  Reformation  separat- 
ed the  Church  of  England  from  the  confederation  and 
caused  her  to  claim  those  ancient  rights  and  privileges  of 
autonomy  and  self-development  which  had  been  endan- 
gered by  the  assumptions  of  the  pope.  There  was  no 
break  in  either  her  continuity  or  her  organization.  The 
same  body  which  had  recognized  the  papal  supremacy 
rejected  it.  Instead  of  individuals  going  out  of  the 
Church  and  forming  new  societies,  the  Church  changed 
as  a  whole,  its  princes,  bishops  and  clergy  leading  in  the 

445 


446  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

work  and  its  laity  conforming  thereto.  'I^e  alterations 
effected  were  sanctioned  by  the  convocation  and  the 
Parliament,  by  both  spirituality  and  temporality.  For 
instance,  instead  of  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer  being 
set  forth  by  unauthorized  persons  or  compiled  from 
unauthorized  sources,  it  was  the  work  of  a  commission 
appointed  by  the  Church,  presided  over  by  the  arch- 
bishop of  Canterbury,  and  composed  of  divines  some 
of  whom  favored  mediaeval  practices  and  others  adhered 
to  the  new  learning.  These  men,  who  once  sang  the 
mass  in  Latin,  themselves  changed  its  ceremonies  and 
turned  the  service  into  English.  They  stood  at  the  same 
altars,  in  the  same  buildings  and  before  the  same  peo- 
ple. Through  every  phase  o{  the  English  Reformation 
the  same  succession  of  bishops  was  maintained,  no  cathe- 
dral throne  was  left  vacant,  no  violation  was  permitted 
of  the  law  and  precedent  of  Christendom.  Even  the 
name  continued  as  of  old.  The  ivy  was  cut  off  the 
walls,  but  the  walls  remained. 

In  this  respect,  and  also  in  its  causes,  progress  and 
effects,  the  English  differed  materially  from  both  the 
Saxon  and  the  Swiss  Reformations.  It  was  not  so  radi- 
cal, and  scarcely  so  heroic.  Even  the  three  Oxford 
martyrs,  Ridley,  Latimer  and  Cranmer,  never  rise  to 
the  splendor  of  Martin  Luther  or  to  the  power  of  John 
Calvin.  They  have  beauty  and  grace,  as  have  the  Eng- 
lish hills  and  brooks,  but  of  Alpine  sublimity  and  ocean- 
like power  they  know  nothing.  Indeed,  their  needs 
and  their  circumstances  prevented  this.  England  had 
not  so  many  abuses  to  remove  as  had  Europe  generally ; 
those  abuses  which  she  had  her  rulers  in  both  Church 
and  State  were  anxious  to  remove ;  the  people  were'  by 


HENRY,    WOLSEY  AND    CRANMER.  447 

no  means  dissatisfied  with  everything  that  was  ancient, 
and  national  conservatism  prevailed  at  all  times.  The 
aim  of  the  English  Reformers  was  lirst  to  break  from  the 
entanglements  of  the  Latin  confederation,  and  then  to 
bring  the  Church  back  again  to  the  faith  and  the  prac- 
tice of  early  Christianity.  They  would  abolish  nothing 
but  innovations  and  usurpations. 

To  indicate  the  course  of  this  work,  and  especially 
the  part  taken  in  it  by  the  king,  the  statesman  and  the 
martyr  whose  names  designate  this  chapter,  is  our  pres- 
ent purpose. 

Henry  VIII.  was  born  June  19,  1491.  The  world's 
new  life  was  then  coming  on  apace.  Christopher  Co- 
lumbus, Giovanni  Cabot  and  Amerigo  Vespucci  were 
on  the  eve  of  revealing  to  Europe  a  vast  continent  in 
the  Western  main.  Ere  long  Copernicus  would  tell  the 
mysteries  of  the  starry  sky,  Ariosto  sing  his  Southern 
songs,  and  Raffael,  Titian,  Vinci  and  Correggio  display 
their  transcendent  genius  in  the  domain  of  art.  With 
them  many  a  scholar  was  making  ready  for  the  change 
which  should  end  the  mediaeval  millennium  and  begin 
a  new  age.  That  change  was  foretold  as  plainly  as  the 
soft  rose-gray  light  of  the  orient  proclaims  the  coming 
of  day ;  and  in  the  brightening  twilight,  amid  its  best 
and  fullest  influence,  the  son  of  Henry  Richmond  was 
brought  up  and  prepared  for  the  work  which  fell  to 
his  lot. 

The  second  of  the  Tudors  received  the  crown  of  Eng- 
land June  24,  1509.  A  youth  of  eighteen,  graceful  in 
person,  his  stature  like  that  of  the  son  of  Kish,  and  his 
royal  bearing,  earnest  spirit  and  clear  ruddy  complexion 
such  as  to  excite  the  admiration  of  all  who  saw  him.  he 


443  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

was  the  darling  of  the  people  and  the  most  popular  of 
English  princes.  He  had  a  good  education,  cultivated 
tastes,  great  industry  and  an  indomitable  will.  His 
court  lost  its  former  stern,  sombre  character  and  be- 
came magnificent  and  gay.  Handsomer  than  any  sov- 
ereign in  Christendom,  his  rich  and  superb  robes  were 
the  admiration  of  the  world.  He  was  fond  of  athletic 
sports ;  rising  daily  at  four  or  five  o'clock,  and  being 
a  capital  horseman,  he  frequently  followed  the  chase  till 
nine  or  ten  at  night.  In  the  winter  he  played  snowball 
with  his  lords,  and  in  the  summer  met  them  in  the  ten- 
nis-court. Sports — especially  of  the  Christmas-tide — 
music  and  wit  delighted  him.  He  was  free,  jovial,  good- 
humored  and  gracious.  He  was  also  assiduous  in  his 
attention  to  affairs  of  state.  In  him  were  united  the 
reckless  profusion  and  the  voluptuous  habits  of  the 
Yorkists  and  the  suspicious  temper  and  the  money- 
loving  tendencies  of  the  Lancastrians.  His  administra- 
tion was  just  and  vigorous.  By  his  side  was  Cardinal 
Wolsey,  the  most  faithful  of  his  friends  and  the  great- 
est statesman  of  the  age ;  around  him  were  counsellors 
whose  fidelity,  experience  and  wisdom  satisfied  his  keen, 
perceptive  mind.  The  work  before  him  was  the  recon- 
struction of  England,  and  nobly  was  the  work  done. 
Times  were  bad ;  the  Wars  of  the  Roses  had  depleted 
England  of  men  and  of  money.  The  baronage  was 
almost  destroyed ;  the  precious  metals  were  frequently 
so  scarce  that  leather  was  coined  instead.  Henry  made 
new  lords  and  watched  them  with  an  eagle-eye,  pene- 
trating their  very  soul  and  instantly  detecting  the  tend- 
ency to  serve  self  at  his  expense ;  he  secured  the  loy- 
alty of  the  people  by  lending  them  money,  encouraging 


HENR  V,    WOLSE  V  AND   CRANMER.  449 

their  trade  and  taking  their  part  against  the  classes 
which  stood  between  him  and  them.  For  the  first 
twenty  years  of  his  reign  was  England  happy.  King 
and  subjects  trusted  and  loved  each  other ;  prosperity 
returned  and  injustice  was  stayed;  learning,  religion, 
arts  and  commerce  were  encouraged,  and  both  at  home 
and  abroad  the  world  recognized  the  prowess  and  the 
ability  of  Henry. 

During  those  twenty  years  Thomas  Wolsey  guided 
his  sovereign's  policy.  He  was  born  in  1471  at  Ipswich, 
and  after  studying  at  Oxford  with  much  credit  and  dis- 
tinction was  ordained  in  1500.  Four  years  later  he  en- 
tered court-life,  where  his  learning,  extreme  eloquence, 
exhaustless  energy  and  many  gifts  were  speedily  recog- 
nized and  rewarded.  The  cautious  Henry  VH.  and  his 
light-hearted  son  became  his  close  friends ;  in  the  year 
the  former  died  Wolsey  was  made  dean  of  Lincoln,  and 
rapid  promotion  followed  the  accession  of  the  latter. 
More  statesman  than  ecclesiastic,  his  idol  was  the  king. 
With  his  chivalrous  and  romantic  loyalty,  he  devoted 
his  life  and  his  abilities  to  his  royal  master.  He  fought 
for  him  at  the  battle  of  the  Spurs ;  he  rejoiced  with  him 
over  Flodden  Field.  He  showed  that  he  could  command 
a  troop  as  well  as  lead  in  a  council,  and  could  arrange 
the  etiquette  of  courts,  inspect  beer-barrels  and  biscuits 
for  the  navy,  conduct  an  intricate  diplomacy  and  admin- 
ister law  with  equal  assiduity  and  success.  Nor  did  the 
king  forget  him.  He  was  made  bishop  of  Tournai  in 
1513 ;  the  next  year,  bishop  of  Lincoln,  and  then  arch- 
bishop of  York ;  the  year  following,  cardinal  of  Rome 
and  lord  chancellor  of  England;  and  in  15 18,  legate. 
From  his  bishoprics  and  other  benefices  held  in  com- 

29 


450  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY, 

viendam  he  received  a  large  revenue,  which  he  em- 
ployed rather  for  public  than  for  private  purposes. 
His  magnificent  establishment  corresponded  with  his 
extraordinary  power,  but  both  were  made  to  subserve 
the  king.  He  loved  architecture  and  learning,  and 
built  at  Ipswich  a  school,  at  Oxford  a  college  and  at 
Hampton  a  palace — all  worthy  of  one  who  had  wealth, 
and  who  received  from  kings  and  from  peoples  an  atten- 
tion and  a  respect  never  given  to  another  prelate. 
Abroad  he  raised  England  from  a  third-rate  power 
and  set  her  beside  the  realms  of  Charles  V.  and 
Francis  I.,  making  her  the  controlling  factor  in  Euro- 
pean politics.  At  home  he  managed  every  department 
of  state.  Ambassadors  and  princes  found  him  haughty 
and  difficult  of  access,  but  to  the  poor  he  was  gracious, 
hearing  their  suits  and  anxiously  giving  them  both  just- 
ice and  quick  despatch.  Over  the  king  his  influence 
was  unbounded,  yet  there  is  no  instance  in  which  he 
abused  that  influence  or  unrighteously  exceeded  •  the 
authority  it  gave  him.  He  even  suffered  the  blame  of 
the  king's  mistakes,  and  allowed  the  king  to  be  excul- 
pated at  his  expense.  His  enemies,  as  they  grew  in 
number  and  in  bitterness,  pointed  out  his  accomplished 
duplicity,  his  proud  bearing,  his  wellnigh  regal  pomp 
and  his  unyielding  purposes,  but  they  said  naught  of 
the  unparalleled  difficulties  of  his  position,  the  multitu- 
dinous problems  before  him  and  the  splendid  successes 
which  crowned  his  efforts. 

Both  Henry  and  Wolsey  conformed  to  the  customs 
and  the  doctrines  and  protected  the  interests  of  the 
Church.  The  king  every  day  heard  from  three  to  five 
masses  and  attended  vespers  and  compline,  and  the  car- 


HENR  y,    WOLSE  V  AND   CRANMER.  45  I 

dinal  was  no  less  devout ;  but,  while  the  latter  had  no 
interest  in  the  religious  questions  of  the  day,  the  former 
sometimes  thought  for  himself  He  defended  mental 
and  extempore  prayer,  held  with  Erasmus  that  the 
secrets  of  Omnipotence  should  not  be  too  narrowly 
searched  into,  admitted  that  it  was  a  good  thing  for  the 
Scriptures  to  be  read  in  all  languages,  only  not  in  the 
monk  of  Wittenberg's  translation,  laughed  occasionally 
at  the  pope,  sought  to  outwit  him,  refused  his  nuncios 
and  forbade  the  publication  of  his  bulls,  and  governed 
more  as  a  national  than  as  a  Catholic  churchman.  He 
refused  to  interfere  with  John  Colet,  dean  of  St.  Paul's 
from  1504  to  1 5 19,  and  one  of  the  most  godly  and  most 
advanced  scholars  of  the  age,  who  freely  condemned  his 
foreign  policy,  earnestly  pleaded  for  ecclesiastical  reform, 
eloquently  and  popularly  expounded  the  Scriptures,  and 
even  ventured  to  deny  verbal  inspiration  and  to  affirm 
that  it  was  better  to  love  God  than  to  know  him.  Nor 
did  the  king  trouble  because  the  dean  preached  against 
the  worship  of  saints  and  of  images,  complained  of  the 
frigid  custom  of  using  written  sermons,  declared  that  he 
got  much  profit  out  of  heretical  books,  disliked  bishops 
and  celibacy,  and  expressed  his  disbelief  in  the  benefit 
of  pilgrimages  to  Canterbury  and  in  the  effect  of  the 
relics  there.  The  charge  of  heresy  was,  indeed,  brought 
against  the  bold  divine,  but  Archbishop  Warham  dis- 
missed it  as  frivolous,  Erasmus  desired  to  embalm  his 
memory,  and  the  king,  after  drinking  his  health,  ex- 
claimed, "  Let  every  man  have  his  own  doctor :  this  is 
mine."  But  no  one  suspected  Henry  of  Protestant  tend- 
encies. For  his  little  book  against  the  Saxon  Reformer 
— who  when  he  had  read  it  observed,  "  Asses  love  net- 


452  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY, 

ties  " — he  received  the  titles  oiFidei  Defensor  2.wdi  Luther- 
omastica.  At  the  court-revels  the  new  movement  was 
parodied  and  ridiculed,  favorite  characters  being  Heresy, 
False  Interpretation,  Corruption  of  Scripture  and  Lu- 
ther's wife.  These  never  failed  to  furnish  merriment  to 
prince  and  to  lords.  Nor  did  Henry  remain  indifferent 
to  the  evils  which  disruption  was  bringing  upon  the 
Church.  He  openly  deprecated  the  efforts  to  break  up 
the  past,  and  in  his  letters  to  the  pope  expressed  the 
fullest  sympathy  for  him  in  his  afflictions.  Hence  all 
Europe  regarded  him  as  one  of  the  soundest  adherents 
of  the  papal  see ;  the  pope  sent  him  a  golden  rose 
anointed  with  chrism,  and  foreign  prelates  presented 
him  with  relics  of  rare  virtue  and  of  great  costliness. 
But  all  Europe  did  not  know  Henry.  He  defended 
the  Church,  loved  England  and  worshipped  God,  but  be- 
yond and  above  them  he  defended,  loved  and  worshipped 
Self  They  must  serve  Henry,  or  Henry  must  break  with 
them.  This  is  the  key  to  the  dark  side  of  his  character. 
He  was  no  profligate  and  no  hypocrite,  but  he  bent  all 
things,  statesmanship,  society  and  religion,  he  sacrificed 
friend  and  persecuted  foe,  not  subtly  but  palpably,  to 
gratify  his  own  personal  whims.  He  could  walk  in  the 
garden  at  Chelsea  with  his  arm  around  the  neck  of  Sir 
Thomas  More,  one  of  the  most  lovely  spirits  that  ever 
adorned  a  court,  professing  eternal  amity,  and  Sir  Thomas 
More  could  write,  "  If  my  head  would  win  him  a  castle 
in  France,  it  should  not  fail  to  go."  Under  his  bluff, 
open-hearted  good-humor  and  frankness  were  watchful- 
ness, silence  and  suspicion.  If  what  he  saw  was  helpful 
to  himself,  well ;  if  not,  then  he  struck  as  suddenly  and 
as  remorselessly  as  a  beast  of  prey.     Therefore  he  lived 


HENRY,    WOLSEY  AND   CKANMER.  453 

in  an  atmosphere  into  which  none  might  enter — perhaps 
forced  into  it  when  he  saw  the  intrigues  and  the  plots  of 
the  men  around  him.  Probably  he  realized  that  either 
he  or  they  must  reign — that  either  he  or  they  must  hold 
the  prize  of  England.  Well  was  it  that  he  had  the  will 
and  the  power.  His  very  selfishness  was  by  Him  in 
whose  hands  are  the  hearts  of  kings  made  to  work  for 
the  good  of  his  country.  His  prosperity  and  England's 
prosperity  were  identical ;  had  they  not  been,  then  Eng- 
land would  have  been  sacrificed  to  Henry,  surely  and 
remorseless.  So  for  a  while  the  Church's  interests  were 
one  with  the  royal  interests ;  the  moment  they  differ- 
entiated, the  Church  was  forsaken.  Hence  he  obeyed 
the  pope,  went  to  mass,  protected  the  monks  and  main- 
tained the  old  faith  generally — not  because  he  loved 
them,  but  because  he  received  good  from  them.  He 
gave  them  up  not  because  he  hated,  or  even  disliked, 
them,  but  because  their  power  to  help  him  was  gone. 
For  Self  the  cardinal  substituted  the  king,  but  not  to 
the  extent  of  sacrificing  his  own  integrity  in  the  further- 
ance of  his  purposes.  He  did  not  favor  the  Reforma- 
tion, nor  was  he,  on  the  other  hand,  a  defender  of  that 
system  against  which  the  Reformation  was  mainly 
directed.  His  position  was  more  that  of  conservative 
indifference — that  is  to  say,  he  was  content  with  things 
as  they  were  :  if  aroused,  his  influence  would  go  to  their 
support,  but  ordinarily  they  failed  to  interest  him.  In 
other  words,  much  as  he  loved  splendor  and  pomp  in  all 
things,  he  was  in  no  sense  theological.  The  questions 
which  divided  Christendom  were  both  beyond  him  and 
disturbing  elements ;  for  statesmen  love  rather  those 
things  which  tend  far  peace  and  unity  than  those  which 


454  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

are  apt  to  multiply  the  difficulties  of  government.  And 
yet,  like  Erasmus,  Wolsey  was  a  preparer  of  the  way  for 
the  coming  change.  Doctrines  he  did  not  understand, 
but  men  he  read  with  a  precision  rarely  at  fault.  Beneath 
the  show  and  the  pretensions  of  the  papal  court  he  saw 
the  sham  and  the  sin.  From  first  to  last  he  treated  the 
pope  purely  as  a  political  personage,  the  same  as  Their 
Majesties  of  Germany  and  France.  He  intrigued  with 
and  against  His  Holiness,  and  he  knew  that  His  Holiness 
intrigued  with  and  against  him.  All  the  tricks  of  diplo- 
macy which  were  rife  in  secular  kingdoms  were  equally 
rife  in  the  spiritual  kingdom.  After  all,  the  pope  was  a 
man — a  great  man,  it  was  true,  and  powerful  in  the  world, 
and,  like  other  and  powerful  men,  using  every  means  at 
his  disposal  to  advance  his  own  interests  and  to  retard 
those  of  others ;  but  as  a  spiritual  chief,  as  an  apostle  of 
truth  and  holiness,  Wolsey  never  thought  of  him.  And 
doubtless  Wolsey  lay  the  papal  heart  before  Henry,  so 
that  Henry  too  might  know  the  uniformity  of  human 
nature.  Both  king  and  cardinal  were  ambitious:  the 
one  would  be  emperor  and  the  other  would  be  pope,  and 
each  was  eager  to  further  the  other's  wishes,  but  they 
accustomed  themselves  to  think  of  the  wearers  of  the 
diadem  and  the  tiara  as  men  no  better  than  other  men, 
till  at  last  all  reverence  vanished.  Probably  both  Wolsey 
and  Henry  thought  likewise  of  the  prelates  around  them. 
Good  and  holy  men  there  were,  but  there  were  also 
schemers,  plotters  and  self-seekers.  Orders  did  not 
make  the  receiver  virtuous  :  if  he  were  not  already  honest, 
no  dignity  would  make  him  so.  Outward  conformity 
there  might  be,  but  the  cardinal  and  his  master  saw  deeper 
than  that,  and  they  knew  that  bishops  and  priests  were 


HENRY,    WOLSEY  AND   CRANMER.  455 

like  popes  and  kings — no  better  and  no  worse.  There 
was,  therefore,  in  Wolsey's  mind  Httle  or  no  sense  of  the 
higher  quahties  of  man,  no  matter  what  was  his  office. 
The  office  might  be  great,  but  the  holder  of  it  might  be 
small ;  and,  in  any  case,  the  office  might  be  played  for 
and  the  holder  treated  as  a  piece  on  a  chess-board. 

In  two  important  ■  respects  was  Cardinal  Wolsey  a 
helper  in  a  movement  with  which  he  had  no  sympathy : 
he  prepared  the  way  for  the  abolition  of  monachism,  and 
he  opened  the  road  to  the  rejection  of  the  papal  suprem- 
acy. 

Many  causes  induced  Wolsey  to  attempt  the  dissolu- 
tion of  the  monasteries.  In  the  first  place,  he  needed 
their  revenues  for  the  purposes  of  education.  For  three 
hundred  years  monachism  had  declined.  Few  new 
houses  had  been  founded,  and  with  the  growth  of  peace 
and  the  increase  of  home-comforts  men  were  not  so 
ready  to  enter  the  cloister.  The  brotherhoods  had  di- 
minished in  numbers  till  many  abbeys  were  little  better 
than  social  clubs  with  half  a  dozen  members.  These 
members,  principally  taken  from  among  well-to-do  peo- 
ple, had  a  pleasant  life  neither  irksome  in  its  discipline 
nor  evil  in  its  results.  They  enjoyed  such  good  things 
of  this  world  as  came  in  their  way,  said  their  prayers  at 
stated  times,  visited  and  returned  hospitality,  protected 
their  interests,  and  were  generally  liked  by  their  tenants 
and  their  neighbors.  The  spirit  of  asceticism  had  gone. 
One  house  which  seems  to  have  needed  some  correction 
begged  Wolsey  not  to  press  its  reformation  too  hard,  for, 
**  now  that  the  world  is  drawing  to  its  end,  very  few  de- 
sire to  live  an  austere  life."  Complaints,  indeed,  were 
made  of  irregularities,  but  these  complaints,  made  by 


456  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

people  in  full  sympathy  with  the  old  regime,  show  that 
the  standard  expected  was  far  above  that  total  depravity 
to  which  some  have  since  alleged  the  monks  to  have 
fallen.  Morals  never  sunk  to  such  a  depth  that  an  abbey 
became  a  '*  nest-bed  of  corruption."  Here  and  there 
abbots  were  negligent  and  brothers  were  indifferent ;  but 
when  their  sins  were  brought  to'  light,  discipline  and 
punishment  were  administered.  The  worst  thing  that 
could  be  said  against  the  monasteries  was  that  they  had 
outlived  their  usefulness.  The  decay  came  from  within, 
and  not  from  without.  They  were  no  longer  needed, 
and,  since  schools  and  colleges  were  springing  up  every- 
where, the  question  of  diverting  endowments  from  the 
old  societies  to  them  became  practical.  Moreover,  what- 
ever influence  the  monks  had  went  in  two  directions,  both 
of  which  jarred  with  the  policy  of  Wolsey  and  of  Henry. 
In  the  abbeys  the  papacy  found  its  strongest  support. 
Bishops  and  seculars  were  oftener  on  the  national  than 
on  the  papal  side ;  the  monks,  never :  they  clung  to  the 
pope  at  all  times  and  under  all  circumstances.  Had 
their  power  been  as  great  in  the  sixteenth  century  as  it 
was  in  the  eleventh  and  twelfth  centuries,  an  independent 
Church  would  have  been  impossible.  No  king  then 
could  rule  without  considering  them,  and  both  Henry 
and  Wolsey  knew  enough  of  state-craft  not  to  suffer  any 
one  class  in  the  community'  to  dictate  or  exclusively  to 
influence  the  nation's  policy.  If  the  monks  favored  the 
pope  more  than  they  favored  the  king,  the  monks  must 
be  curbed.  Nor,  on  the  other  hand,  were  their  demo- 
cratic tendencies  more  kindly  regarded.  In  the  abbey 
all  were  brethren  ;  the  officers  were  elected ;  every  mem- 
ber had  a  voice  and  a  vote  in  the  management  of  affairs, 


HENRY,    WOLSEY  AND    CRANMER.  457 

and  any  appearance  of  irresponsible  personal  govern- 
ment was  avoided.  The  opposite  theory  was  the  Tudor 
policy.  Henry  observed  law  and  ruled  by  Parliaments, 
but  he  so  managed  as  to  have  both  law  and  Parliament 
agree  with  his  will.  The  people  spoke,  but  they  always 
said  what  the  king  wished.  They  believed  in  him,  and 
Henry  believed  in  him  too ;  hence  the  growth  of  that 
absolutism  which  characterized  this  remarkable  dynasty 
and  the  development  of  the  spirit  of  reverence  for  the 
person  of  the  sovereign.  To  further  this  purpose,  a  wit- 
ness to  the  power  of  the  people  such  as  that  furnished 
by  the  monasteries  must  be  removed.  No  man  must 
imagine  that  he  had  a  right  to  select  his  ruler  or  to  dis- 
cuss the  acts  of  that  ruler. 

Political  expediency  and  financial  necessity,  combined 
with  the  fact  of  the  decay  of  the  institutions  themselves, 
forced  on  the  question  of  dissolution.  A  precedent 
already  existed.  In  14 14  the  Commons  petitioned  that 
the  alien  priories  should  be  taken  for  perpetuity  into 
the  king's  hands.  It  was  done,  and  one  hundred  and 
ten  houses  were  suppressed.  The  pope  had  also  sanc- 
tioned the  conversion  of  decrepit  and  useless  establish- 
ments into  schools.  In  1497  he  commissioned  the  bishop 
of  Ely  to  break  up  the  house  of  St.  Rhadegund  at  Cam- 
bridge and  build  on  its  site  Jesus  College.  In  1524  he 
gave  Wolsey  permission  to  turn  into  a  college  the  mon- 
astery of  St.  Frideswyde  in  Oxford.  The  same  year 
Clement  VII.  issued  a  bull  enabling  Wolsey  to  appro- 
priate the  revenues  of  such  houses  whose  annual  income 
was  less  than  three  thousand  ducats,  and  whose  inmates 
did  not  exceed  seven  brothers.  Popular  opinion  ap- 
proved  of  these  measures.     Fox,  bishop  of  Winchester, 


458  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

wrote  in  January,  1521,  to  the  cardinal  to  thank  him 
for  the  reformations  which  he  proposed.  The  good 
bishop  declared  that  in  his  diocese  he  had  found  the 
clergy,  and  particularly  the  monks,  so  depraved  and 
corrupt  that  he  had  despaired  of  any  perfect  improve- 
ment, but,  now  that  one  with  such  skill  in  divine  and 
human  affairs  as  Wolsey  had  was  prepared  to  drive  away 
such  abuses,  he  had  good  hope.  In  this  work  Wol- 
sey employed  commissioners,  chief  among  whom  was 
Thomas  Cromwell,  an  able  and  a  clever  attorney.  They 
investigated  the  affairs  of  every  house  doomed  to  disso- 
lution, and  upon  their  report  the  members  were  trans- 
ferred to  larger  establishments  and  the  estates  to  the 
cardinal.  Thus,  as  Fuller  puts  it,  the  great  statesman 
cut  away  the  underwood ;  by  and  by  the  king  would 
fell  the  oaks.  But  the  anger  of  the  monks  never  cooled 
toward  the  former.  They  hated  him,  maligned  and  per- 
secuted him,  and  cast  the  whole  weight  of  their  influence 
into  the  efforts  made  for  his  overthrow.  Nor  could  the 
advocates  of  reform  befriend  him,  for  he  despised  and 
repudiated  their  proposals. 

The  other  great  matter  in  which  Wolsey  had  a  part, 
and  which  led  to  both  the  Reformation  and  his  own  ruin, 
was  the  separation  of  Henry  and  Catherine.  This  unfor- 
tunate princess,  the  daughter  of  Ferdinand  and  Isabella 
of  Spain,  had  been  married  at  the  age  of  sixteen  to  Ar- 
thur, the  elder  brother  of  Henry.  Her  husband  died  six 
months  later,  in  1502,  a  lad  of  fifteen  years  and  husband 
only  in  name.  The  virgin-widow  was  then  betrothed 
to  her  brother-in-law  Henry,  and  a  dispensation  was 
obtained  from  the  pope  to  make  such  a  marriage  lawful. 
She  was  five  years  older  than  the  prince,  and  the  wed- 


HENRY,    WOLSEY  AND   CRANMER,  459 

ding  was  to  be  solemnized  when  he  had  completed  his 
fourteenth  year.  It  did  not,  however,  take  place  till 
1509,  seven  weeks  after  the  accession  of  Henry  to  the 
throne.  For  some  years  the  two  lived  happily  together. 
Catherine  was  quiet  and  pious  in  disposition,  stout  in 
figure,  with  a  fair  complexion  and  old-fashioned  ways, 
and  she  made  an  affectionate  wife  and  a  good  mother. 
Henry  loved  her,  though  he  did  not  consider  it  his  duty 
to  continue  faithful  to  her.  The  chronicler  pleasantly 
records  among  the  events  of  the  meeting  of  Henry  and 
Francis  at  the  Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold,  in  1520,  the 
visit  of  the  king  of  England  to  the  French  queen.  The 
ladies  of  the  latter  were  assembled  to  receive  His  High- 
ness. He  passed  slowly  through  their  ranks,  leisurely 
ad-miring  their  charms,  and  afterward  kissed  them  all. 
Such  gallantry  was  the  order  of  the  English  court,  and 
Catherine  did  not  murmur.  Unfortunately,  her  father 
used  her  as  a  political  tool,  and  involved  her  in  many 
unpleasant  difficulties  with  both  the  king  and  his  council. 
Still  more  unfortunately,  her  husband  was  prone  to  the- 
ological discussion.  He  began  to  question  the  legality 
of  a  man's  marrying  his  deceased  brother's  wife.  The 
winsome  ways  of  one  of  his  queen's  maids  of  honor, 
Anne  Boleyn,  niece  of  the  duke  of  Norfolk,  added  in- 
clination to  the  workings  of  conscience.  After  seeing 
the  charms  of  this  pretty  coquette  he  no  longer  cared 
for  the  ugly  Catherine.  From  about  1524  the  royal  dis- 
turbance grew.  Henry  could  satisfy  neither  mind  nor 
heart.  The  maid  of  honor  would  have  naught  to  do 
with  him  except  as  his  wife,  and  the  queen  would  not 
die.  In  1526  he  sought  to  find  some  way  to  have  his 
marriage  with  Catherine  annulled.    He  induced  Wolsey, 


460  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

as  papal  legate,  to  summon  him  before  his  court  to 
answer  to  the  charge  of  living  with  his  brother's  wife. 
The  attempt  failed :  much  as  Wolsey  loved  the  king, 
he  did  not  approve  of  the  king's  proposal.  Two  years 
later  the  question  was  referred  to  the  pope ;  if  the  pope 
pronounced  a  divorce,  the  cardinal  would  be  satisfied. 
He  even  urged  His  Holiness  to  do  so,  warning  him  that 
greater  evils  would  follow  if  the  divorce  were  withheld. 
But  the  pope  had  to  choose  between  the  husband  and 
the  nephew  of  Catherine.  Charles  V.  was  not  likely  to 
allow  so  great  an  indignity  to  befall  a  member  of  his 
imperial  house.  Clement  was  willing  to  accommodate 
the  English  king  to  the  utmost  of  his  power,  but  all 
that  he  could  do  was  to  appoint  a  commission  to  try 
and  report  upon  the  case.  The  commissioners  were 
Wolsey  and  Campeggio.  They  held  their  court,  and 
before  they  came  to  a  decision  the  pope  in  1529  com- 
manded the  trial  to  be  transferred  to  Rome. 

The  example  of  Louis  XH.  and  Jane  of  France  fur- 
nished Henry  with  a  precedent,  yet  with  utter  incon- 
sistency he  sought  for  that  which  he  denied  his  sister 
Margaret  of  Scotland.  To  that  imperious  dame  he  had 
even  written  letters  of  exhortation  to  conjugal  obedience 
and  to  avoid  the  desire  she  had  for  divorce.  Margaret, 
however,  was  like  her  brother  in  more  respects  than 
one.  Her  first  husband  died  at  Flodden,  her  second  she 
divorced,  and  her  third  she  tried  likewise  to  get  rid  of; 
but  death  came,  and  she  had  no  time  to  marry  a  fourth. 
When  Henry  was  put  off  by  the  pope,  he  was  as  furious 
as  she  had  been  at  the  thwarting  of  her  will. 

Nothing  restrained  the  wrath  of  the  king.  The  first 
result  was  the  ruin  of  Wolsey.     He  had  not  been  so 


HENRY,    WOLSEY  AND   CRANMER.  46 1 

eager  as  he  might  have  been.  Indeed,  a  strong  party  in 
the  court  had  used  Anne  Boleyn  to  effect  this  result. 
About  the  year  1520,  Henry  surrounded  hiniself  with 
such  men  as  the  dukes  of  Norfolk  and  Suffolk,  Sir  Wil- 
liam Compton,  Sir  Francis  Bryan,  Sir  Gilbert  Pickering, 
Sir  Henry  Norris,  Sir  Thomas  Boleyn  and  George  Bo- 
leyn— each  as  profligate  in  his  life  as  he  was  corrupt  in 
his  principles.  Sir  Thomas  More  would  not  meet  them, 
Wolsey  was  too  full  of  state-business  to  care  for  men 
such  as  they,  and  the  king  fell  gradually  and  certainly 
under  their  influence.  They  discovered  his  weakness 
and  helped  him  to  the  indulgence  of  his  whims.  They 
hated  the  cardinal  with  unrelenting  vehemence.  Soon 
they  saw  the  way  by  which  his  power  could  be  broken. 
That  the  quiet  and  elderly  woman  who  had  thought  her- 
self the  wife  of  Henry  and  the  queen  of  England  should 
be  sacrificed  caused  them  no  anxiety  :  the  end  would 
justify  everything;  so  the  daughter  of  one  of  them,  and 
the  relative  of  them  all,  was  brought  forward  to  supplant 
Catherine  of  Arragon  in  the  king's  affections.  In  a  little 
while,  Anne  of  the  swan-like  neck — the  little,  lively, 
sparkling  brunette — with  her  black-blue  Irish  hair  and 
her  dark  fascinating  eyes,  her  ready  conversation  and 
her  quaint,  pretty  ways  won  the  love  of  the  impetuous 
and  selfish  Henry.  His  inclinations  were  furthered  to 
the  point  which  gave  meaning  to  the  plot :  Anne  would 
be  his  wife,  but  she  would  not  be  his  mistress.  Hence 
the  need  of  divorce — an  act  which  the  Boleyn  party 
full  well  knew  that  Wolsey  could  not  effect.  That  great 
statesman  accepted  the  infallible  authority  of  the  pope, 
but,  unless  the  pope  dissolved  the  marriage,  he  would 
not  consent  to  the  conspiracy  against  the  queen.     Hence 


462  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

from  the  first  the  feehng  was  decidedly  antagonistic  be- 
tween the  upright,  clear-headed  Wolsey  and  the  light 
and  thoughtless  Anne  Boleyn.  She  was  glad  to  help 
her  friends  to  remove  from  power  one  who  clouded  her 
hopes  and  rebuked  her  ambitions.  The  cardinal  well 
knew  that  his  sacrifice  was  not  only  determined  upon, 
but  was  also  nigh  at  hand. 

So  disappointed  was  Henry  at  Wolsey 's  failure  to 
secure  the  divorce,  and  so  prompt  and  vigorous  were  the 
persuasions  of  the  Boleyn  faction,  that  he  gave  up  his 
faithful  minister  to  the  mercies  of  the  foe.  In  October, 
1529,  a  writ  oi  prcemunire  was  issued  against  Wolsey. 
He  was  to  be  tried  for  having  at  the  king's  request  ex- 
ercised legatine  powers  in  England ;  then  the  great  seal 
was  taken  from  him,  and  in  November  the  bill  of  his  im- 
peachment was  brought  into  Parliament.  Henry,  how- 
ever, was  not  quite  ready  to  crush  him,  and  the  following 
February  he  gave  him  a  full  pardon  and  restored  to  him 
the  temporalities  of  York.  Shorn  of  his  power  and 
broken  in  heart,  Wolsey  went  to  the  seclusion  of  his 
northern  diocese  and  devoted  himself  to  his  episcopal 
functions.  But  in  November,  1530,  he  was  summoned 
to  London.  His  enemies  had  now  the  way  to  his  death. 
The  poor  cardinal  started,  but  sickness  came  upon  him. 
Eighteen  days  he  spent  at  Sheffield  Park ;  thence  he 
went,  in  t4ie  custody  of  soldiers,  to  Hard  wick  Hall.  The 
next  night  he  rested  at  Nottingham  ;  then  he  set  out  for 
Leicester,  so  feeble  that  he  could  scarcely  sit  upon  his 
mule,  all  regarding  him  as  a  dying  man.  In  the  dark 
eventide  he  was  met  at  the  gateway  of  the  abbey  of 
Leicester.  The  abbot  greeted  him  affectionately ;  the 
torches   lighted  up  the  weird  scene.     "  Father  Abbot," 


HENRY,    WOLSEY  AND   CRANMER.  463 

said  the  cardinal,  "  I  am  come  hither  to  leave  my  bones 
among  you."  Two  days  later,  on  the  eve  of  St.  Andrew, 
he  passed  away,  and  early  on  the  morrow  of  the  feast 
the  remains  of  the  magnificent  cardinal  were  laid  in  the 
earth. 

Henry  did  not  grieve  over  the  sacrifice  of  the  man 
who  had  made  his  reign  so  glorious ;  he  possessed  him- 
self of  his  property  and  pursued  his  plans  for  a  divorce. 
The  question  turned  upon  the  right  of  the  pope  to  dis- 
pense with  a  universally-accepted  law.  That  question 
was  submitted  to  the  universities  of  Europe,  and  agents 
were  supplied  with  ample  means  to  induce  these  scholas- 
tic bodies  to  decide  in  Henry's  favor.  Eventually  they 
did  so  decide,  but  to  the  last  Luther  and  Melanchthon 
condemned  the  king.  Nor  did  any  intrigue,  persuasion 
or  bribe  help  the  pope ;  he  was  in  the  grip  of  the  em- 
peror, and  could  say  nothing.  It  was  well.  Had  he 
granted  the  divorce,  the  tie  of  the  papacy  would  have 
bound  England  to  Rome  and  stayed  the  Reformation. 
There  is  no  doubt  that  Henry  had  many  in  Europe  who 
agreed  with  him  in  his  principle,  though  they  condemned 
his  motive.  The  principle  became  a  keynote  in  the 
struggle  of  the  age ;  it  assumed  proportions  which  af- 
fected society  in  every  direction.  Was  Catharine  Hen- 
ry's wife  ?  Had  the  pope  the  power  to  make  her  such  ? 
All  Europe  asked  the  questions,  and  Europe  divided 
upon  the  answers.  The  man,  however,  was  soon  found 
who  settled  the  matter,  so  far  as  England  and  Henry 
were  concerned. 

When  the  pope  directed  the  trial  to  be  continued  at 
Rome,  Henry,  in  great  perplexity,  went  to  Waltham. 
Among  the  members   of  his   court  who  attended  him 


464  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

were  his  secretary,  Gardiner,  and  his  almoner,  Dr.  Fox. 
These  two  there  met  an  old  college-friend,  and  with  him 
entered  into  the  subject  of  the  day.  The  friend  was 
Thomas  Cranmer,  at  this  time  divinity  lecturer  in  Jesus 
College,  Cambridge,  and  one  of  the  university  exam- 
iners in  theology.  He  was  a  native  of  Aslacton,  in  Not- 
tinghamshire, and  was  born  July  2,  1489.  His  family 
was  ancient,  honorable  and  prosperous,  but  in  after- 
years,  like  Xhomas  a  Becket  and  Cardinal  Wolsey,  he 
suffered  the  charge  of  lowly  birth.  To  disparage  a  man 
because  of  his  origin  was  in  olden  time  a  favorite  course, 
though  with  unconscious  inconsistency  they  whose 
claims  were  highest  had  no  feeling  against  the  founders 
of  Christianity  and  thought  William  of  Normandy  'as 
good  as  themselves.  It  was  given  out  that  Cranmer  had 
been  a  hostler  or  an  innkeeper;  according  to  Fuller, 
the  slander  was  verified :  hostler-like,  "  with  his  learned 
lectures  he  curried  the  lazy  hide  of  many  an  idle  and 
ignorant  friar."  Of  his  boyhood  we  know  little.  His 
early  days  were  spent  in  the  ancestral  home,  among  the 
beauties  of  the  county  of  the  merry  Sherwood,  and  his 
first  instructor  in  letters  was  "  a  rude  parish  clerk." 
Much  of  his  difiBdence  and  timidity  is  traceable  to  this 
"  marvellous  severe  and  cruel  schoolmaster."  He  was 
also  taught  the  exercises  which  were  deemed  proper  for 
gentlemen,  and  learned  to  acquit  himself  well  in  sports 
and  games,  to  ride  with  the  swiftest  in  the  chase,  and  to 
cast  off  his  hawk  as  well  as  the  most  accomplished  fal- 
coner. Even  when  archbishop,  he  loved  to  show  his 
power  to  ride  and  control  the  roughest  horse. 

In  1503,  at  the  age  of  fourteen,  Cranmer  entered  Jesus 
College,  Cambridge,  and  soon  distinguished  himself  by 


IlENR  V,    IVOLSE  Y  AND   CRANMER,  465 

the  assiduity  and  success  with  which  he  devoted  himself 
to  the  study  of  philosophy,  logic,  the  classics,  the  works 
of  Erasmus  and  the  sacred  Scriptures.  During  his  long 
residence  in  the  university  he  came  under  the  strong  in- 
fluence of  the  school  in  which  Erasrnus  was  so  renowned 
a  leader.  The  development  of  that  school  was  rapid 
and  radical ;  in  it  were  Tyndale,  Coverdale,  and  others 
who  were  destined  to  help  in  bringing  in  the  new  life. 
Cranmer  proceeded  to  his  degrees,  became  fellow  of  his 
college,  then  married  and  lost  the  fellowship,  but,  his 
wife  dying  within  a  year,  he  obtained  it  again  ;  afterward, 
about  1520,  he  received  orders,  and  in  1523  he  was  made 
Doctor  of  Divinity.  His  abilities  were  generally  recog- 
nized. Gladly  would  Wolsey  have  had  him  join  the 
new  college  just  founded  at  Oxford,  but  Cranmer  pre- 
ferred continuing  his  work  in  the  university  where  he 
had  already  spent  twenty  years  of  his  life.  Perhaps 
Cambridge  was  more  congenial  for  one  who  had  already 
ventured  to  disagree  with  much  that  was  popularly  ac- 
cepted. Luther  had  spoken,  and  thoughtful  men  listened 
to  his  words.  As  yet  Cranmer  assented  to  but  little ; 
perhaps  only  two  or  three  conclusions,  and  these  spring- 
ing out  of  the  burning  question  of  the  divorce,  affected 
him.  He  recognized  the  supremacy  of  the  Scripture 
and  the  usurpation  of  the  papacy.  Possibly  he  also  saw 
the  wrong  and  peril  of  enforced  celibacy ;  •therefore  he 
lightly  esteemed  vows  unnatural  in  themselves  or  un- 
righteously demanded.  He  would  have  the  Bible  given 
to  the  people,  and  he  questioned  the  right  of  the  pope 
to  have  any  jurisdiction  within  the  realm  and  the  Church 
of  England. 

This  latter  point  Cranmer  stated  to  Gardiner  and  to 

30 


466  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Fox.  He  went  farther.  The  pope  had  no  power  to  dis- 
pense law.  If  the  Scripture  or  the  Church  said  that  a  man 
should  not  marry  his  deceased  brother's  wife,  the  pope 
had  no  right  t©  say  otherwise.  For  him  to  justify  wrong- 
doing was  an  enormity  unbearable  and  calamitous.  Were 
the  claim  suffered,  the  pope  might  suspend  the  whole 
moral  law,  and  the  world  would  receive  its  order,  not 
from  Sinai,  but  from  the  Vatican.  All  the  king  had  to 
do  was  to  satisfy  his  conscience  upon  the  invalidity  of 
the  first  marriage  and  then  marry  again.  In  this  opinion 
Cranmer  agreed  with  his  contemporaries  generally  that 
the  question  was  with  Henry  a  matter  of  conscience. 
There  was,  indeed,  nothing  to  prevent  Henry  doing  as 
William  Rufus  and  John  had  done,  and  as  Charles  II. 
afterward  did  ;  the  weight  of  which  fact  ought  to  be  ad- 
mitted in  judging  of  this  complicated  subject.  More- 
over, Cranmer  may  have  dreaded,  as  most  Englishmen 
did  dread,  the  likelihood,  unless  by  another  alliance  a 
male  heir  to  the  throne  was  born,  of  England  falling  into 
the  hands  of  the  Spanish  kings  and  losing  its  identity  in 
the  great  empire  over  which  those  kings  ruled.  When 
Henry  died,  only  a  girl,  and  she  half  Spanish,  stood  be- 
tween the  island-throne  and  the  most  powerful  and  ag- 
gressive monarchy  of  the  world.  This  fear  influenced 
many  to  wish  well  to  Henry's  suit  for  a  divorce ;  they 
cared  little  Ibr  motives  which  later  ages  have  supposed 
were  all-powerful  with  the  king.  Only  that  England 
might  be  secured  was  all  they  wanted.  And  to  Cran- 
mer's  mind  the  reason  why  England  was  not  secure  and 
why  the  conscience  of  England's  king  was  not  at  rest 
arose  from  the  action  of  the  pope  in  sanctioning  a  viola- 
tion of  law.     And  if  the  pope  had  usurped  jurisdiction 


HENR  };    WOLSE  V  AND   CRANMER.  467 

in  this  case,  were  not  other  assumptions  also  usurpa- 
tions ?  Neither  in  the  primitive  Church  nor  in  the  older 
life  of  England  had  the  pope  been  supreme.  Every 
nation  had  once  controlled  its  own  ecclesiastical  affairs, 
and  therefore  this  whole  matter  was  for  the  king,  and 
not  for  the  pope,  to  decide. 

Cranmer's  opinion  pleased  Henry  exceedingly.  He 
had  long  learned  the  value  of  the  papacy,  and  to  give 
up  the  pope  was  not  nearly  so  bad  as  to  sacrifice  Wol- 
sey.  Cranmer  was  brought  to  court.  He  wrote  a  book 
to  justify  the  principle  he  had  advanced.  He  was  taken 
in  hand  by  the  Boleyn  faction,  who  cared  less  for  the 
principle  than  for  the  application  which  they  intended 
making  of  it.  With  Anne's  father,  now  earl  of  Wilt- 
shire, he  went  on  an  embassy  to  the  emperor  and  to  the 
pope.  The  latter  discerned  his  rising  power,  and  made 
him  penitentiary  for  England ;  at  home  the  king  re- 
warded him  with  benefices  and  for  the  next  two  years 
employed  him  in  several  works  of  trust.  At  last,  on 
the  death  of  Warham,  in  1533,  he  named  him  for  the 
archbishopric  of  Canterbury. 

The  pope  not  only  assented  to  the  appointment,  but 
also  confirmed  to  Cranmer  the  rights  of  the  legatiis 
natiis  held  by  his  predecessors.  This  was  actually 
sharpening  the  axe  now  put  into  Cranmer's  hand. 
The  consecration  took  place  March  30  in  St.  Stephen's 
church,  Westminster,  and  the  officiants  were  John  Lang- 
lands  of  Lincoln,  John  Voysey  of  Exeter  and  Henry 
Standish  of  St.  Asaph.  The  new  archbishop  was  obliged 
to  take  the  oaths  of  obedience  to  the  pope,  but  first  in 
the  chapter-house,  then  on  the  steps  of  the  altar,  and 
lastly  when  about  to  receive  the  pall,  he  solemnly  de- 


468  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

clared  that  by  any  oaths  he  might  be  compelled  to  take 
*'  for  form's  sake  "  he  did  not  intend  to  disable  himself 
from  reforming  those  things  "  which  I  shall  think  fit  to 
be  reformed  in  the  Church  of  England."  By  this  action 
Cranmer  covered  the  retreat  he  intended  making  as  soon 
as  he  had  received  the  plenary  authority  of  metropolitan. 

Henry  understood  his  man.  Inferior  to  Wolsey  in 
statesmanship,  perhaps  in  integrity,  and  certainly  in 
firmness,  he  was  superior  to  the  cardinal  in  scholar- 
ship, personal  piety  and  sympathy  with  the  times.  He 
was  honest  in  his  desire  to  help  the  Reformation — at 
least,  to  the  extent  of  substituting  the  regal  for  the 
papal  supremacy.  In  place  of  Clement  he  would  have 
Henry,  and  would  yield  to  the  latter  all  that  custom  had 
long  given  the  former.  The  king  henceforth  should  be 
the  head  of  the  Church,  with  all  the  prerogatives  and 
ascriptions  of  the  papacy ;  to  him  only  should  the 
clergy  give  allegiance  and  of  him  only  should  they 
receive  authority.  Cranmer  thus,  like  Wolsey,  exalted 
Henry ;  but,  unlike  Wolsey,  Cranmer  could  be  bent  to 
serve  according  to  the  royal  will.  He  is  not  the  only 
good  man  who,  absorbed  in  the  ulterior  project  of  prin- 
ciple, has  been  used  in  the  mean  time  to  further  motives 
in  themselves  bad. 

Two  months  after  the  consecration  of  Cranmer  he 
proceeded,  as  metropolitan  of  England  and  having 
plenary  jurisdiction  therein,  to  hold  a  court  for  the 
settlement  of  the  king's  matter.  With  him  was  asso- 
ciated the  bishop  of  Lincoln,  and  the  king  was  repre- 
sented by  Gardiner  of  Winchester  and  a  number  of 
learned  doctors  of  the  law.  The  lady  Catherine  was 
summoned,   but  did  not  appear.     After   argument  the 


HENRY,    IVOLSEY  AND   CRANMER.  469 

archbishop  solemnly  pronounced  that  the  pope  had  no 
power  to  license  such  marriages,  and  that  the  marriage 
of  Henry  and  Catherine  was  null  and  void,  and  had 
been  null  and  void  from  the  first.  This  sentence  re- 
moved the  necessity  for  a  divorce,  and,  though  it  placed 
Catherine  and  her  daughter,  Mary,  in  an  unfortunate 
position,  it  completely  satisfied  Henry.  He  had,  in- 
deed, anticipated  it,  and  some  months  earlier  had  mar- 
ried Anne.  The  pope  immediately  annulled  Cranmer's 
sentence  and  excommunicated  Henry  and  Anne ;  some 
of  the  clergy  compared  the  king  to  Ahab  and  his  wife 
to  Jezebel,  and  not  a  few  of  the  people  pitied  the  im- 
prisoned princess  and  uttered  their  scorn  of  the  Boleyn 
faction.  No  one  suffered  for  their  abuse.  Like  all  the 
Tudor  princes,  Henry  was  sensitive  of  public  opinion ; 
he  allowed  the  people  their  "  say,"  but  he  kept  Anne 
and  proclaimed  her  queen. 

The  coronation  was  of  extraordinary  splendor.  Ban- 
quets, processions,  pageants,  salutes  and  gifts  marked 
the  loyalty  of  London  :  "  neuer  was  lyke  in  any  tyme 
nyghe  to  our  rememberaunce."  On  Whitsunday,  and  in 
the  abbey  of  Westminster,  the  ceremony  was  performed. 
The  two  archbishops,  five  bishops  and  ten  or  twelve 
abbots,  arrayed  in  pontificals,  received  the  queen,  ap- 
parelled in  a  robe  of  purple  velvet  and  accompanied  by 
gentlewomen  in  robes  and  gowns  of  scarlet.  Before  the 
high  altar  the  archbishop  of  Canterbury  set  the  crown 
upon  her  head ;  after  which,  Te  Deum  was  sung,  mass 
was  celebrated,  and  the  assembly  adjourned  to  the  hall 
to  keep  the  great  feast.  Anne  Boleyn  had  no  cause  to 
complain  of  the  glory  which  that  day  shone  upon  her. 
She  had  waited,  and  the  fulness  of  pomp  testified  to 


470  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

her  success.  The  following  September,  Cranmer  bap- 
tized her  daughter,  the  princess  Elizabeth. 

The  break  with  Rome  was  now  certain.  In  1534  the 
papal  authority  in  England  was  abolished,  the  payment 
of  first-fruits  to  the  pope  was  forbidden,  and  the  king 
was  recognized  as  the  supreme  head  on  earth  of  the 
national  Church.  Many  of  the  powers  formerly  exer- 
cised by  the  pope  now  devolved  upon  Cranmer.  He 
granted  bulls  and  dispensations,  confirmed  and  conse- 
crated bishops,  made  visitations  throughout  the  province 
and  licensed  preachers.  None  except  those  allowed  by 
him  might  preach,  and  they  were  specially  charged  to 
speak  against  the  papal  claims,  but  not  against  or  for 
such  doctrines  as  purgatory,  celibacy  or  invocation  of 
saints.  In  the  year  of  his  consecration  Cranmer  had 
consented  to  the  burning  of  two  men  who  denied  tran- 
substantiation.  In  February,  1535,  he  solemnly  adjured 
the  pope  and  declared  his  sole  allegiance  to  the  king ; 
ail  the  bishops  but  one  followed  his  example.  The 
clergy  assented  to  the  acts  of  their  spiritual  lords,  thus 
furnishing  something  of  a  test  of  the  slight  hold  which 
the  papacy  had  upon  their  affections.  Two  men,  how- 
ever, would  not  take  the  oath  of  the  royal  supremacy. 
Bishop  Fisher  and  Sir  Thomas  More  objected,  and, 
though  Cranmer  endeavored  to  save  them,  they  were 
promptly  beheaded. 

And  now  the  work  of  monastic  dissolution  begun  by 
Wolsey  went  on  swiftly.  Cromwell  was  now  vicar-gen- 
eral and  held  powers  of  visitation  both  of  abbeys  and  of 
bishoprics.  He  was  one  of  uncommon  financial  acumen, 
with  a  considerable  knowledge  of  human  nature.  The 
king  needed  money  for  himself  and  lands  to  reward  his 


HENRY,    WOLSEY  AND   CRANMER.  47 1 

courtiers :  Cromwell  knew  where  and  how  both  could 
be  obtained.  Acts  of  Parliament  were  passed  enabling 
the  Crown  to  possess  and  to  hold  the  estates  of  the  mon- 
asteries. Abbeys  and  convents  were  invited  to  surrender 
their  possessions ;  some  did,  and  such  as  refused  were 
inspected  by  commissioners  for  the  ostensible  purpose 
of  seeing  if  the  discipline  were  maintained.  The  most 
reckless  charges  and  the  blackest  crimes  were  brought 
up  against  the  monks,  who  were  powerless  in  the  pres- 
ence of  men  who  wanted  their  houses  and  lands.  Where 
this  infamous  proceeding  was  likely  to  fail  other  meas- 
ures were  taken  ;  as,  for  instance,  with  the  abbey  of 
Glastonbury.  The  aged  abbot,  Richard  Whiting,  un- 
blemished in  character,  princely  in  hospitality  and  wise 
in  authority,  was  desired  to  relinquish  his  society.  He 
declined,  and  was  therefore  tried  and  condemned  for  high 
treason.  Next  day,  without  being  allowed  to  take  leave 
of  his  brethren,  he  was  dragged  on  a  hurdle  to  a  hill 
overlooking  his  monastery,  and  there  hanged  and  quar- 
tere*d;  This  was  the  last  abbot  of  the  famous  house  of 
Avalon,  associated  by  legend  with  Prince  Arthur,  Joseph 
of  Arimathea  and  the  Holy  Grail.  The  splendid  church 
— as  long  as  Canterbury  cathedral — was  dismantled,  and 
the  estates  passed  into  the  king's  hands.  Others  suffered 
after  the  same  fashion ;  and  when  all  was  done,  there 
had  perished  six  hundred  and  forty-five  religious  houses, 
ninety  colleges,  twenty-three  hundred  and  seventy-four 
chantries  and  free  chapels,  and  one  hundred  and  ten  hos- 
pitals. The  greater  part  of  the  immense  wealth  confis- 
cated went  to  the  king  and  his  lords  ;  little,  if  any,  went  to 
the  building  or  endowing  of  churches,  to  educational  or 
missionary  purposes,  or  even  to  the  improvement  of  the 


472  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

roads  and  the  defences  of  the  country.  In  vain  did 
Cranmer  and  others  seek  to  save  some  of  the  buildings 
and  endowments  for  rehgious  or  scholastic  purposes : 
the  vicar-general  had  no  sentiment  save  for  the  royal 
exchequer  ;  and  the  remorseless  vandalism  went  on.  A 
few  short  years,  and  monachism  had  utterly  perished  out 
of  the  land. 

The  people  were  reminded  that  this  wholesale  robbery 
was  for  religion's  sake ;  the  monks  were  idolaters,  and 
in  their  houses  every  vileness  abounded.  But  the  peo- 
ple knew  otherwise.  They  lived  near  to  the  abbeys  and 
saw  the  actual  lives  of  the  men  therein ;  they  saw,  too, 
the  growth  of  a  plebeian  aristocracy  enriched  out  of  the 
spoils  of  the  abbeys.  The  sham  was  therefore  open  to 
them,  and  soon  the  storm  broke.  Nearly  the  whole  of 
Northern  England  revolted.  Forty  thousand  Yorkshire- 
men  marched  toward  London  with  the  avowed  purpose 
of  restoring  the  monks  to  their  homes  and  of  remov- 
ing such  counsellors  as  Cromwell  from  the  king.  They 
called  their  expedition  '*  The  Pilgrimage  of  Grace."*  It 
failed,  and  Cromwell  became  stronger  than  ever. 

About  this  time  Hugh  Latimer  becomes  conspicuous. 
The  son  of  a  Leicestershire  yeoman,  and  a  member  of 
the  University  of  Cambridge,  he  combined  in  his  charac- 
ter a  practical,  sturdy  sense  and  considerable  scholar- 
ship. He  was  of  nearly  the  same  age  as  Cranmer,  and, 
like  Cranmer,  he  had  strongly  advocated  the  king's  cause 
against  Catherine.  Under  the  influence  of  Thomas  Bil- 
ney,  who  in  1531  was  burnt  at  Norwich  for  heresy,  he 
gave  up  his  strong  mediaeval  proclivities  and  accepted 
the  doctrines  of  the  Reformers.  *His  ability  as  a  preacher 
was  great,  though  few  cared  for  the  blunt,  outspoken 


HENR  V,  WOLSE  Y  AND   CRANMER.  47  3 

manner  with  which  he  rebuked  wrong-doing  and  advo- 
cated his  views.  Wolsey  gave  him  permission  to  preach 
as  he  hked,  and  Cranmer  became  his  warm  friend.     In 

1535  h^  was  made  bishop  of  the  distant  and  neglected 
diocese  of  Worcester,  and  at  once  proceeded  to  make 
such  changes  there  as  he  thought  necessary. 

The  bishops  had  now  formed  themselves  into  two  par- 
ties, both  agreeing  with  the  abolition  of  the  papal  suprem- 
acy, but  differing  as  to  the  necessity  of  further  reforma- 
tion. At  the  head  of  the  one  party  was  Cranmer ;  at  the 
head  of  the  other,  Gardiner,  bishop  of  Winchester.  Some 
communication  had  already  been  held  with  the  Saxon 
Reformers,  but  Henry  had  little  sympathy  with  men  who 
would  touch  the  doctrinal  structure  of  the  old  faith.     In 

1536  the  southern  convocation  set  forth  certain  articles 
"to  stablyshe  Christen  quietnes  and  unitie  amonge  us, 
and  to  avoyde  contentious  opinions,"  but  there  is  little  in 
them  of  accordance  with  the  Reformed  principles.  They 
were  ten  in  number,  and  the  following  year  were  supple- 
mented by  a  similar  document,  entitled  the  "  Institution 
of  a  Christian  Man." 

The  same  year,  1536,  Henry  had  further  matrimonial 
trouble.  No  male  heir  had  come  of  the  marriage  with 
Anne  Boleyn ;  England  was  as  badly  off  as  ever.  Two 
other  motives  had  also  entered  the  king's  heart :  he  had 
become  jealous  of  Anne,  and  he  had  fallen  in  love  with 
another  woman.  Probably  Anne  had  been  indiscreet, 
but  that  she  sinned  as  Henry  supposed  is  generally  dis- 
allowed. Innocence,  however,  went  for  nothing :  she 
was  doomed  to  suffer  the  same  indignity  that  for  her  sake 
had  been  put  upon  Catherine  of  Arragon.  To  save  her- 
self from  death  by  burning,  she  confessed  a  precontract 


474  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

of  marriage;  Henry  also  admitted  that  he  had  been 
familiar  with  her  elder  sister  before  his  alliance  with 
Anne ;  whereupon,  in  strict  conformity  to  law,  Cranmer 
promptly  and  obediently  pronounced  "  that  the  marriage 
between  Henry  and  Anne  was  null  and  void,  and  always 
had  been  so."  The  unfortunate  queen  had  none  to  pity 
her.  For  some  months  before  her  fall  she  had  been 
under  the  benign  influence  of  Latimer,  and  had  sobered 
down  into  the  position  of  one  realizing  great  responsibil- 
ity. The  charge  of  the  king  came  upon  her  with  crushing 
force,  but  she  never  forgot  her  womanhood  or  lost  her 
dignity.  She  asked  the  king  for  justice,  but  not  for 
mercy.  So  she  went  to  death  at  high  noon  on  Friday, 
May  19 ;  and  when  the  lieutenant  of  the  Tower  told  her 
the  pain  would  be  little,  it  was  so  subtile,  she  laughed, 
and,  putting  her  hands  around  her  neck,  she  said,  "  I 
have  heard  say  the  executioner  is  very  good,  and  I  have 
a  little  neck."  The  headsman  came  from  Calais,  for  the 
English  were  not  expert  at  such  things,  and  Anne  was 
the  first  English  queen  or  princess  sent  to  the  scaffold. 
One  blow  ended  it  all.  That  night,  it  is  believed,  her 
friends  took  her  remains  secretly  away  and  buried  them 
in  an  Essex  churchyard.  Her  father  retained  his  posses- 
sions. Cold  and  hard,  he  was  never  heard  to  express  a 
regret  at  the  fate  of  his  beautiful  daughter.  Henry  con- 
soled himself  by  getting  married  to  Jane  Seymour  next 
morning.  Later,  when  the  earl  of  Wiltshire  died,  he  set 
aside  Cranmer's  sentence  and  claimed  the  estates  which 
would  have  fallen  to  his  murdered  wife.  His  two 
daughters,  Mary  and  Elizabeth,  legally  in  a  peculiar 
position,  were  some  time  later  by  an  act  of  Parliament 
set  right.     One  was  brought  up  under  strong  Spanish 


HENRY,    WOLSEY  AND   CRANMER.  475 

and  Roman  influence ;  the  other,  under  the  care  of  Cran- 
mer.  In  life  and  in  religion  they  were  divided,  but  now 
in  the  one  tomb,  side  by  side,  the  daughter  of  Catherine 
of  Arragon  and  the  daughter  of  Anne  Boleyn  repose  in 
peace. 

The  clergy  followed  their  royal  master's  example,  and 
took  unto  themselves  wives.  In  1532,  Cranmer  had  mar- 
ried Anne,  the  niece  of  the  famous  Andreas  Osiander;  but 
in  1539  the  Parliament  passed  an  act  annulling  the  mar- 
riages of  ecclesiastics.  The  Lutherans  had  held  a  con- 
ference with  some  divines  commissioned  by  Henry,  in 
hopes  of  uniting  the  several  Reformed  schools  in  one 
Church,  but  the  king  was  too  conservative.  New  arti- 
cles were  drawn  up  which  decidedly  reiterated  the 
most  obnoxious  doctrines  of  the  mediaeval  Church  and 
obtained  the  title  of  the  "  Bloody  Statute  of  the  Six 
Articles."  Transubstantiation  was  specially  insisted 
upon;  also,  clerical  celibacy.  Cranmer  quietly  and 
prudently  sent  his  wife  back  to  Germany,  where  she 
remained  till  more  auspicious  times.  Other  clergymen, 
dreading  the  severe  penalties  of  disobedience,  did  like- 
wise. One  poor  priest,  John  Foster  by  name,  wrote  a 
letter  to  Cromwell  confessing  how  ill  he  had  understood 
the  word  of  God  when  he  had  married  a  wife,  and  com- 
plimenting the  king's  grace  upon  his  more  erudite  judg- 
ment. He,  indeed^  wished  the  king  had  read  the  Scrip- 
tures otherwise  and  hints  at  the  desolation  of  an  unmar- 
ried priest,  but  as  soon  as  he  heard  the  royal  order,  he 
says,  **  I  sentt  the  woman  to  her  frendys  iii  score  mylys 
from  me,  and  spedely  and  with  all  celeryte  I  have  resort- 
ed hether  to  desyre  thef  King's  Hyghtnes  of  hys  favor 
and  absolucyon  for  my  amysce  doing."     Verily,  if  John 


476  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Foster  represented  his  brethren,  the  clergy  had  a  becom- 
ing reverence  for  the  royal  supremacy. 

In  1537,  Nicholas  Ridley,  one  of  the  most  courtly  and 
accomplished  of  scholars,  became  chaplain  to  Archbishop 
Cranmer ;  three  years  later  he  was  made  a  royal  chaplain. 
Of  a  good  Northumberland  family,  born  in  1 500,  he  had 
been  educated  at  Cambridge,  where  he  had  given  much 
attention  to  the  study  of  divinity.  He  had  even  learned 
to  repeat  in  Greek,  without  book,  almost  all  the  Epistles 
of  the  New  Testament.  His  drift  was  strongly  to  the 
Reformed  party,  and  from  him  Cranmer  obtained  that 
view  of  the  holy  communion  which  he  afterward  im- 
pressed upon  the  English  formularies.  Indeed,  Ridley 
seems  to  have  helped  much  to  the  moulding  and  develop- 
ment of  the  archbishop's  mind,  furthering  it  in  a  Protest- 
ant direction  and  giving  it  a  consistency  never  after  this 
sacrificed.  Whatever  may  have  been  Cranmer's  faults 
— and  they  are  'mostly  covered  by  the  word  "  weak- 
ness " — he  was  honest  and  earnest  in  his  purpose  of 
reformation.  His  master  had  gone  far  enough ;  the 
gentle  Ridley  and  the  thoroughgoing  Latimer  united 
with  the  primate  in  pressing  on  to  a  far-distant  end. 
Latimer  knew  nothing  of  timidity ;  Ridley,  nothing  of 
that  brave,  dauntless  courage  in  which  lay  Latimer's 
greatness.  As  soon  as  the  act  of  the  six  articles  of 
1539  became  law  Latimer  resigned  his  bishopric:  he 
would  assent  to  no  device  which  sanctioned  transub- 
stantiation,  celibacy  or  auricular  confession.  He  was 
more  or  less  persecuted  till  Henry  died,  but,  notwith- 
standing imprisonment  in  the  Tower,  he  held  out.  Had 
Cranmer  been  as  uncompromising  and  as  indiscreet,  he 
would  have  had  the   same  glory   of   heroism,  but   he 


HENR  V,    WOLSE  V  AND   CRANMER.  47/ 

would  have  lost  his  power  for  good,  and  the  Reforma- 
tion in   England  might  never  have  been. 

One  of  the  most  important  steps  in  Cranmer's  policy- 
was  the  popular  distribution  of  the  sacred  Scriptures. 
Surely,  said  he,  "  to  the  reading  of  the  Scripture  none 
can  be  enemy  but  that  either  be  so  sick  that  they  love 
not  to  hear  of  any  medicine,  or  else  that  be  so  ignorant 
that  they  know  not  Scripture  to  be  the  most  healthful 
medicine."  It  is  well,  however,  to  guard  against  the 
supposition  that  the  common  people  thronged  to  the 
churches  to  hear  the  Scriptures  read  in  the  mother- 
tongue,  or  that  by  stealth  ploughmen  and  shepherds 
perused  the  New  Testament  under  hedges  and  smiths 
and  carpenters  in  the  corners  of  their  shops.  Such  was 
not  the  tendency  of  the  masses  nor  the  character  of  the 
age.  Bible-reading  began,  not  with  the  lower  classes  or 
with  the  laity,  but  with  the  scholars  and  the  clergy  of 
the  universities.  Nearly  all  the  leaders  of  the  Reforma- 
tion were  ecclesiastics,  but  for  many  a  day  the  people 
neither  heard  the  word  gladly  nor  desired  to  know  about 
the  new  faith.  They  clung  tenaciously  to  the  older  form, 
and  saw  in  the  destruction  of  abbeys  and  priories  and  in 
the  change  of  doctrines  nothing  but  shame  to  the  country 
and  inconvenience  to  themselves.  Nor  did  the  men  who 
obtained  the  lands  of  the  monks  care  for  religion :  they 
favored  only  that  which  kept  them  in  their  possession. 
The  country  had  to  be  educated  to  discern  in  the  Bible  the 
final  and  infallible  authority  ;  then  would  the  people  know 
for  themselves  the  necessity  and  the  justice  of  the  work 
that  had  been  done  for  them.  But  when  Tyndale  issued 
his  translation,  a  fierce  opposition  broke  out — not  so  much 
from  a  desire  to  prevent  the  people  from  becoming  ac- 


47 S  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

quainted  with  the  Bible  as  from  the  nature  of  the  version. 
He  was  both  bitter  in  spirit  and  coarse  in  expression, 
and,  having  gone  to  the  extremity  of  the  continental 
school  of  reform,  he  systematically  avoided  in  his  ren- 
derings the  use  of  ecclesiastical  words.  He  translated 
"  congregation  "  instead  of  "  church,"  "  washing  "  instead 
of  "baptism,"  "favour"  instead  of  "grace,"  "elder"  or 
"  senior  "  instead  of  "  priest,"  and  so  on.  There  seemed 
to  be  a  desire  to  undermine  the  attachment  of  the  people 
to  the  Church  and  a  wish  to  detach  her  doctrines  from 
their  foundation  of  Scripture  proof  Some  of  his  quaint 
translations  are.  Genesis  xxxix.  2  :  "  And  the  Lord  was 
with  Joseph,  and  he  was  a  luckie  fellow ;"  Matthew 
xxvi.  30 :  "  When  they  had  said  grace ;"  Matthew  iv. 
24 :  "  Holden  of  divers  diseases  and  gripinges."  Cover- 
dale's  version,  published  in  1535,  met  with  more  favor, 
and  by  the  king's  command  was  laid  in  the  choir  of 
every  church  "  for  every  man  that  will  look  to  and  read 
therein."  But  neither  was  this  entirely  satisfactory, 
therefore  the  translation  known  as  the  "  Great  Bible  " 
was  made  under  the  archbishop's  supervision  by  the 
most  learned  of  the  English  bishops  and  divines.  It 
was  published  in  1539,  ^^^  remained  the  authorized 
version  of  the  Church  of  England  till  the  "  Bishops' 
Bible"  came  out,  in  1568.  An  anticipation  may  be 
made.  The  "  Bishops'  Bible  "  was  intended  to  take  the 
place  of  the  popular  "  Geneva,"  a  Puritan  production 
with  marginal  notes  and  comments  in  which  were  curi- 
ously mingled  things  useful  and  things  questionable. 
For  example,  one  of  these  notes  defined  bishops  and 
archbishops  to  be  "  apocalyptic  locusts  " — a  phrase  more 
likely  to  tickle  the  ears  of  the  advocates  of  ministerial 


HENR  F,    WOLSE  V  AND   CRANMER.  479 

parity  than  to  please  the  adherents  of  episcopacy.  The 
"  Geneva,"  however,  was  the  first  version  that  used  Ro- 
man type  instead  of  black  letter,  divided  the  text  into 
verses,  omitted  the  Apocrypha,  and  printed  in  italics 
words  not  in  the  original.  All  these  translations  were 
superseded  by  the  "Authorized  Version  "  of  161 1,  which 
has  won  the  hearts  of  the  English-speaking  peoples 
of  the  world,  and  has  done  so  much  to  beautify  and 
to  strengthen  the  English  language. 

The  Bible  in  the  hands  of  the  people  helped  much 
to  the  changes  desired  by  Cranmer.  In  1541  he  began 
the  supervision  of  the  service-books  and  advocated  the 
use  of  homilies  for  the  instruction  both  of  '*  ignorant 
preachers  "  and  of  their  flocks.  In  1544  he  put  forth  in 
English  a  litany  the  same  in  substance  with  the  present 
one.  But  the  king  held  back.  Cranmer  never  lost  his 
hold  upon  the  boisterous  and  impetuous  monarch,  but 
of  further  reformation  Henry  would  hear  nothing.  Be- 
yond rejecting  the  papacy,  abolishing  monachism,  dis- 
tributing the  Scriptures  and  laying  down  the  principle 
of  service  in  the  native  tongue,  the  Church  of  England 
remained  till  the  death  of  Henry  the  same  as  of  old. 

There  is  little  to  show  that  in  the  latter  years  of  his 
reign  the  king  lost  any  of  his  early  popularity.  Posterity 
and  Rome  have  made  the  most  of  his  matrimonial  mis- 
fortunes, but  his  contemporaries  did  not  judge  him  so 
harshly.  He  retained  to  the  last  the  affections  of  his 
subjects,  though  he  struck  as  swiftly  and  as  remorse- 
lessly as  ever.  There  was  no  hesitation  regarding  de- 
alers of  the  regal  supremacy:  Parliament  and  convo- 
cation said  the  death  of  such  was  needed.  Parties,  too, 
played  with  the  king  as  the  Boleyn  faction  had  done,  and 


480  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTOR  Y. 

as  for  some  time  after  the  Seymour  circle  continued  to 
do.  Evil  advisers  had  the  royal  ear  and  led  Henry  to  do 
things  which  under  other  influences  he  might  not  have 
done.  When,  October  12,  1537,  Edward  was  born,  both 
the  king  and  England  were  wild  with  joy;  but  a  fort- 
night later,  to  Henry's  inexpressible  grief,  the  queen 
died.  He  had  some  difficulty  in  getting  another  wife, 
but  Cromwell  recommended  to  him  a  plain  Dutch  wo- 
man, Anne  of  Cleves,  and  even  induced  the  king  to 
marry  her  by  proxy  before  seeing  her.  When  Henry 
did  see  her,  his  fury  broke  out.  She  was  discreet,  and 
accepted  a  divorce  and  a  pension.  Cromwell  went  to 
the  block.  The  next  year  Henry,  now  fifty-two  years 
of  age,  was  attracted  by  the  charms  of  the  pretty  though 
diminutive  Catherine  Howard,  granddaughter  of  that 
duke  of  Norfolk  who  was  uncle  of  Anne  Boleyn.  She 
was  about  nineteen  years  old,  and  was  designed  to  serve 
those  same  family  purposes  which  her  unfortunate  pred- 
ecessor and  relative  had  done.  The  king  appeared  to 
love  her  passionately ;  then  he  heard  of  some  indiscre- 
tions committed  before  marriage,  and,  apparently  with 
her  father  and  Cranmer's  approval,  after  a  wedded  life  of 
nineteen  months,  he  sent  her  to  death.  The  next  year 
he  found  a  widow,  Catherine  Parr,  willing  to  accept  his 
hand;  she  was  judicious,  and  survived  her  lord. 

January  28,  1547,  the  great  Tudor  king  passed  away, 
and  the  crown  of  England  fell  to  a  sickly  lad  of  nine 
summers.  Cranmer,  who  had  baptized  him,  performed 
the  coronation  on  Shrove  Tuesday,  February  20.  For 
the  first  time  in  English  history  the  king  was  not  pre- 
sented for  election,  but  was  simply  declared  to  be  the 
"  rightful  and  undoubted  inheritor."     The  ancient  cere- 


HENR  V,    WOLSE  Y  AND   CRANMER.  48 1 

mony  of  anointing  was  performed  with  scrupulous  care; 
for  though  Cranmer  told  the  king  that  it  was  but  a  form, 
yet  "  My  Lord  of  Canterbury,  kneeling  on  his  knees  and 
the  king  lying  prostrate  on  the  altar,  anointed  his  back." 
Then  he  placed  the  diadem  on  his  brow  and  the  sceptre 
in  his  hand,  and  proclaimed  him  Edward  VI.  of  England. 
The  boy-king  was  precocious  and  pious.  His  moth- 
er's brother,  the  duke  of  Somerset,  became  protector 
during  the  king's  minority.  He  desired  to  match  his 
daughter,  Lady  Jane  Seymour,  with  the  king,  but  the 
youthful  monarch  revolted  at  the  idea  of  forming  an 
alliance  with  a  kinswoman  and  a  subject.  The  queen- 
dowager,  Catherine  Parr,  for  whom  Edward  had  a  tender 
affection,  held  the  project  of  uniting  him  with  Lady  Jane 
Grey.  Henry  VIH.  had  in  vain  sought  to  secure  for  his 
son  the  hand  of  Mary  queen  of  Scots,  nor  were  the 
determined  attempts  made  after  his  death  toward  an 
alliance  of  the  little  cousins  more  successful.  The  pro- 
tector agreed  with  Cranmer,  though  from  very  different 
motives,  in  the  work  of  the  Reformation.  The  influence 
of  both  over  the  king  was  great — the  one  in  matters  of 
the  State,  and  the  other  in  affairs  of  the  Church.  Ed- 
ward learned  what  his  father  had  never  learned — to  obey 
ministers — and,  though  he  threw  himself  heart  and  soul 
into  the  new  religious  movement  and  was  impatient  for 
its  advancement,  the  real  success  was  due  to  the  ability, 
sagacity  and  perseverance  of  Cranmer.  In  every  step 
that  was  taken  on  behalf  of  Protestantism  during  the 
six  years  of  Edward's  reign  Cranmer  was  the  moving 
spirit.  His  was  the  hand  that  guided  the  Church  through 
those  days  of  trouble ;  his  was  the  mind  that  devised  the 
course  and  controlled  the  actions  of  the  more  hasty  and 

31 


482  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

the  less  judicious  of  his  party.  The  opposition  to  Prot- 
estantism was  now  well  defined  and  vigorous  and  the 
difficulties  became  greater  every  day,  but  the  archbishop 
moved  on  with  persistency  and  wisdom.  A  serious  obsta- 
cle in  his  way  was  the  ignorance  of  the  clergy.  When 
Bishop  Hooper,  in  1550,  proceeded  to  examine  three  hun- 
dred and  eleven  of  the  clergy  of  the  diocese  of  Gloucester, 
he  found  one  hundred  and  sixty-eight  of  them  unable 
to  repeat  the  ten  commandments,  and  thirty- one  of  that 
number  further  unable  to  state  in  what  part  of  the  Scrip- 
tures they  were  to  be  found  ;  there  were  forty  who  could 
not  tell  where  the  Lord's  Prayer  was  written,  and  thirty- 
one  of  this  number  ignorant  who  was  its  author.  Cran- 
mer  once  asked  a  priest  for  the  name  of  the  father  of 
King  David ;  he  pleaded  forgetfulness,  but  was  also 
unable  to  remember  who  was  Solomon's  father.  This 
was  not  exceptional.  Tyndale  declares  that  "  a  great 
part  of  them  do  understand  no  I^tin  at  all,  but  sing 
and  say  and  patter  all  day  with  the  lips  only  that  which 
the  heart  understandeth  not."  A  remedy  for  this  igno- 
rance was  attempted  in  the  book  of  homilies  which 
was  published  in  1547.  It  consisted  of  twelve  ser- 
mons on  such  subjects  as  the  reading  of  Holy  Scrip- 
ture, the  true  and  lively  faith  and  good  works.  Three, 
at  least,  were  written  by  the  archbishop  himself  Visi- 
tations were  held  throughout  the  country  by  the  bish- 
ops, and  the  most  searching  inquiry  was  made  into  the 
sins  and  the  shortcomings  of  the  clergy.  The  reminis- 
cences of  the  old  worship  were  to  be  swept  clean  out. 
The  royal  injunctions  of  1547  directed  that  the  priests 
should  '*  take  away,  utterly  extinct  and  destroy  all  shrines, 
covering  of  shrines,  all  tables,  candlesticks,  trindles  or 


HENRY,    WOLSEY  AND   CRANMER.  483 

rolls  of  wax,  pictures,  paintings,  and  all  other  monu- 
ments of  feigned  miracles,  pilgrimages,  idolatry  and 
superstition ;  so  that  there  remain  no  memory  of  the 
same  in  walls,  glass  windows,  or  elsewhere  within  their 
churches  or  houses."  The  altars  were  also  ordered  to 
be  removed  and  plain  honest  tables  set  up  instead.  The 
great  means  used,  however,  for  reaching  the  multitude 
was  the  apostolic  plan  of  preaching.  Sadly  indeed  had 
this  duty  been  neglected;  as  Latimer  said,  "when  the 
devil  gets  influence  in  a  church,  up  go  candles  and  down 
goes  preaching."  By  this  weapon  the  first  ministers  of 
the  gospel  won  the  world  for  Christ,  and  the  Reformers 
fully  proved  its  great  and  almost  invincible  power.  At 
St.  Paul's  Cross  the  best  preachers  of  the  Reformed 
Church  proclaimed  their  glad  message  to  thronging 
thousands.  The  truth  found  its  way  to  their  hearts  ; 
and  when  once  an  indiscreet  preacher  ventured  to  ad- 
vocate praying  for  the  dead  and  to  denounce  Ridley — 
now  made  bishop  of  London — he  barely  escaped  with 
his  life.  But  far  away  in  remote  country-places  the 
people  still  clung  to  the  darkness.  In  Devonshire  they 
openly  demanded  the  mass,  and  broke  out  into  a  rebel- 
lion which  was  with  difficulty  suppressed. 

Next  to  the  Bible  in  English  and  to  preaching,  the 
most  powerful  agency  of  the  Reformation  in  England 
was  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer.  Hitherto  the  ser- 
vices had  been  in  Lati^ ;  now  they  were  to  be  rendered 
in  the  common  tongue.  Hitherto  the  clergy  had  wor- 
shipped for  the  people,  as  they  still  do  in  the  Roman 
and  in  most  Protestant  denominations ;  now  the  people 
were  called  up  into  the  chancel  to  worship  for  themselves. 
A  committee    of  representative   divines,   with  Cranmer 


4^4  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

at  their  head,  was  appointed  to  prepare  from  the  ancient 
service-books  a  new  Hturgy,  This  Hturgy — the  First 
Book  of  Edward  VI. — was  pubHshed  and  ordered  to 
be  used  in  1 549.  It  was  an  ingenious  and  an  admira- 
ble compilation,  sparkling  with  spiritual  and  literary 
glories,  and  in  every  sense  superior  to  any  service-book 
the  Christian  Church  had  ever  known.  But  it  retained 
certain  ceremonies  and  expressions  which  were  con- 
sidered objectionable,  such  as  the  terms  "  mass "  and 
**  altar,"  the  reservation  of  the  sacramental  elements, 
prayers  for  the  dead,  exorcism  and  chrism  in  baptism 
and  anointing  in  the  visitation  of  the  sick,  A  new  com- 
mittee, with  the  same  president,  was  therefore  appointed 
to  revise  the  book  and  bring  it  more  into  harmony  with 
Protestant  principles.  The  revision  was  set  forth  in  1552, 
and  from  that  date  the  Second  Book  of  Edward  VI. 
became  the  authorized  liturgy  of  England.  With  the 
exception  of  some  few  improvements  in  the  reigns  of 
Queen  Elizabeth  and  Charles  II.,  the  book  has  remained 
substantially  the  same  from  that  day  to  this. 

In  1553  were  published  the  "Articles  of  Religion." 
There  were  forty-one,  but,  reduced  in  1 571  to  thirty- 
nine,  ever  since  they  have  remained  unchanged  both 
in  number  and  in  expression.  In  these  articles  the  ref- 
ormation of  the  Church  of  England  may  be  said  to  have 
been  completed.  Here  appeared  the  gems  of  truth  for 
which  her  bravest  and  her  best  sons  fought  and  died, 
shining  with  lustrous  beauty  and  precious  as  must  ever 
be  jewels  which  are  brought  from  the  heavenly  quarry. 
Crowned  with  this  crown  of  pure  faith,  she  may  indeed  be 
called  the  queen  of  the  churches  of  Christendom.  Here 
truth  blends  with  the  spirit  of  conservatism.     Not  one 


HENRY,    WOLSEY  AND   CRANMER.  485 

iota  of  primitive,  or  even  mediaeval,  doctrine  shall  be 
given  up  if  it  be  true ;  but  the  axe  is  laid  at  the  root 
of  the  tree  of  error  in  the  famous  declaration,  "  Holy 
Scripture  containeth  all  things  necessary  to  salvation." 
Justification  is  determined  to  be  through  faith  in  the 
Lord  Jesus  Christ  alone ;  free  will,  works  of  superero- 
gation and  sinless  perfection  on  earth  are  disallowed. 
Purgatory,  the  worship  of  saints,  angels  and  relics,  in- 
dulgences, penance  and  extreme  unction,  are  condemned. 
General  councils — which  many  regard  as  the  panacea 
for  all  the  Church's  woes — are  mentioned,  but  only  to 
affirm  that  they  may  err  and  have  erred.  The  Church 
of  Rome  is  solemnly  pronounced  to  have  erred  not  only 
in  her  living  and  her  manner  of  ceremonies,  but  also  in 
matters  of  faith.  In  the  question  of  soteriology  the  ar- 
ticles favor  the  Augustinian  doctrine  of  predestination 
and  election.  Augustus  Toplady,  in  his  Historic  Proof 
of  the  Doctrinal  Calvinism  of  the  Church  of  England, 
says,  "  We  must  admit  either  that  Cranmer  was  as  abso- 
lute a  predestinarian  as  Calvin  himself,  or  charge  the 
venerable  archbishop  with  such  extreme  dissimulation 
and  hypocrisy  as  are  utterly  incompatible  with  common 
honesty."  The  nineteenth  article  declares  the  Church 
visible  to  be  a  congregation  of  faithful  men  "  in  the  which 
the  pure  word  of  God  is  preached  and  the  sacraments 
be  duly  ministered  according  to  Christ's  ordinance  in  all 
those  things  that  of  necessity  are  requisite  to  the  same." 
Cranmer  and  his  fellow-laborers  were  on  terms  of  cor- 
dial intimacy  and  good-will  with  the  continental  Re- 
formed churches,  though  they  were  organized  on  other 
than  the  ancient  model.  The  archbishop  himself  invited 
John  a    Lasco,  Melanchthon,  Albert    Hardenberg   and 


486  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Martin  Bucer  to  come  to  England  and  assist  in  the 
English  Reformation ;  and  when  many  of  the  French 
Protestants  fled  to  Kent,  they  were  allowed  to  hold 
their  services  in  the  crypt  of  Canterbury  cathedral — 
a  privilege  which  their  descendants  still  enjoy.  It  is 
true  both  of  the  articles  and  of  the  Prayer-book  that, 
while  they  bear  the  impress  of  Archbishop  Cranmer, 
they  also  owe  something  to'  Christians  of  commu- 
nions differing  widely  from  one  another. 

Cranmer's  hand  is  also  to  be  discerned  in  the  ordinal. 
The  preface,  written  by  himself,  is  temperate  and  inof- 
fensive. It  simply  asserts  the  historic  fact  of  the  three 
orders  in  the  ministry,  and  declares  that,  so  far  as  the 
Church  of  England  is  concerned,  none  shall  officiate 
within  her  borders  who  has  not  received  episcopal 
ordination.  Such  a  decree  was  not  intended  to  imply 
any  defect  in,  or  condemnation  of,  those  churches  which 
are  differently  organized.  It  is,  however,  in  his  famous 
work  on  the  Lord's  Supper  that  we  have  the  best  dis- 
play of  his  vast  intellectual  powers.  Here  we  discern 
the  soundest  scriptural  criticism,  the  fullest  knowledge 
of  the  patristic  and  scholastic  writings — -second,  indeed, 
only  to  that  of  Bishop  Jewel — and  the  most  uncompro- 
mising and  inexorable  logic.  It  dealt  with  the  great 
question  of  the  day,  for,  while  in  Germany  the  battle 
of  the  Reformation  was  fought  out  on  the  question  of 
justification,  in  England  it  centred  itself  almost  entire- 
ly upon  the  doctrine  of  the  Real  Presence.  How  was 
Christ  present  in  the  elements  of  the  holy  communion  ? 
What  did  he  mean  when  in  the  institution  of  that  sacra- 
ment he  said,  speaking  of  the  bread,  *'  This  is  my  body," 
and  of  the   wine,  "  This   is  my  blood  "  ?     The  Romish 


HENRY,    WOLSEY  AND   CRANMER.  487 

doctrine  was,  and  had  been  more  or  less  since  the  ninth 
century,  that  the  words  were  to  be  taken  Hterally.  The 
English  Reformers  reiterated  the  words  of  ^Ifric,  writ- 
ten at  the  beginning  of  the  eleventh  century :  "  The 
housel  is  Christ's  body — not  bodily,  but  spiritually; 
not  the  body  in  which  he  suffered,  but  the  body  about 
which  he  spake  when  he  blessed  bread  and  wine  for 
housel." 

Cranmer  divides  his  work  into  five  books,  of  which 
the  first  treats  of  the  sacrament  generally ;  the  second,  of 
transubstantiation ;  the  third,  of  the  presence  of  Christ; 
the  fourth,  of  the  eating  and  drinking ;  and  the  fifth,  of 
the  oblation  and  sacrifice  of  Christ.  He  invites  discus- 
sion. "  What  hurt,  I  pray  you,"  says  he,  "  can  •  gold 
catch  in  the  fire,  or  truth  with  discussing  ?  Lies  only 
fear  discussing.  The  devil  hateth  the  light  because  he 
hath  been  a  liar  from  the  beginning  and  is  loth  that  his 
lies  should  come  to  light  and  trial.  And  all  hypocrites 
and  papists  be  of  a  like  sort  afraid  that  their  doctrine 
should  come  to  discussing,  whereby  it  may  evidently 
appear  that  they  be  endued  with  the  spirit  of  error  and 
lying." 

In  the  course  of  the  work  many  awkward  dilemmas 
are  brought  out — such,  for  example,  as  this  :  "  If  Judas 
received  Christ  with  the  bread,  as  you  say,  and  the  devil 
entered  with  the  bread,  as  St.  John  saith,  then  was  the 
devil  and  Christ  in  Judas  both  at  once.  And  then  how 
they  agreed  I  marvel ;  for  St.  Paul  saith  that  Christ  and 
Belial  cannot  agree."  The  following  has  a  bearing  upon 
the  whole  question  :  "  It  is  not  a  sufficient  proof  in  Scrip- 
ture to  say,  *  God  doth  it  because  he  can  do  it,'  for  he 
can  do  many  things  which  he  neither  doth  nor  will  do. 


488  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

He  could  have  sent  more  than  twelve  legions  of  angels 
to  deliver  Christ  from  the  wicked  Jews,  and  yet  he  would 
not  do  it.  He  could  have  created  the  world  and  all 
things  therein  in  one  moment  of  time,  and  yet  his  pleas- 
ure was  to  do  it  in  six  days."  Nor  may  a  crucial  passage 
such  as  this  be  omitted  :  "  If  Christ  had  never  ordained 
the  sacrament,  yet  should  we  have  eaten  his  flesh  and 
drunken  his  blood,  and  have  had  thereby  everlasting 
life,  as  all  the  faithful  did  before  the  sacrament  was  or- 
dained, and  do  daily  when  they  receive  not  the  sacra- 
ment." Or  this:  "The  greatest  blasphemy  and  injury 
that  can  be  against  Christ,  and  yet  universally  used 
through  the  popish  kingdom,  is  this — that  the  priests 
make  their  mass  a  sacrifice  propitiatory  to  remit  the  sins 
as  well  of  themselves  as  of  others,  both  quick  and  dead, 
to  whom  they  list  to  apply  the  same.  Thus,  under  pre- 
tence of  holiness,  the  papistical  priests  have  taken  upon 
them  to  be  Christ's  successors,  and  to  make  such  an 
oblation  and  sacrifice  as  never  creature  made  but  Christ 
alone ;  neither  he  made  the  same  any  more  times  than 
once,  and  that  was  by  his  death  upon  the  cross."  It  is 
not  contended  that  Cranmer  always  held  views  such  as 
these.  He  once  undoubtedly  taught  the  doctrine  of  the 
real  objective  presence ;  he  then  upheld  consubstantia- 
tion,  and  from  that  advanced  to  the  position  maintained 
in  his  book,  and  in  which  he  died.  In  the  expression 
of  these  sacramental  views  Ridley  had  a  part. 

The  reign  of  Edward  soon  came  to  an  end.  A  few 
short  years,  and  the  bright  morn  of  promise  was  dark- 
ened with  heavy  clouds.  But  no  clouds  could  put  back 
the  hand  of  time.  The  Reformation  had  been  begun  in 
England ;  the  people  had  tasted  the  sweets  of  spiritual 


IIENR  V,    IVOLSE  V  AND   CRANMER.  4S9 

freedom,  and  no  persecution,  repression  or  inquisition 
could  undo  what  had  been  done.  The  seed  had  been 
sown ;  and  if  it  were  destined  that  it  should  be  watered 
with  the  blood  of  many  martyrs,  it  was  also  destined 
that  it  should  take  deep  hold  and  in  strength  and  beauty 
bear  fruit  such  as  should  grow  in  no  other  land  or  among 
no  other  race.  There  were  doubtless  heavy  hearts  around 
the  death-bed  of  the  young  king.  Men  trembled  when 
they  thought  of  what  the  future  might  bring  forth.  "  O 
my  Lord  God,"  cried  the  dying  prince,  "  defend  this  thy 
realm  and  protect  it  from  popery  and  maintain  the  true 
religion  and  pure  worship  of  thy  name."  A  dreadful 
storm  swept  over  the  country.  Trees  were  uprooted ; 
darkness,  thunder,  wind  and  flood  such  as  few  remem- 
bered seemed  to  portend  terrible  evil ;  and  ere  long 
Death  cast  his  shadow  upon  the  tender  and  simple-hearted 
boy — blessed  prelude  to  an  eternal  rest  and  a  heavenly 
crown.  "We  have  lost  our  good  king,"  laments  John 
Bradford,  and  Protestant  Switzerland  and  Saxony  wept 
with  bereaved  and  unhappy  England. 

And  for  a  time  it  seemed  that  there  was  good  cause  for 
weeping.  The  new  queen,  indeed,  permitted  Cranmer  to 
read  over  the  king  the  burial-service  according  to  the 
Book  of  Common  Prayer,  but  the  anticipations  of  the 
Reformers  were  soon  realized.  Into  prison  went  Brad- 
ford, Hooper,  Ridley,  Latimer,  and  many  another  witness 
of  the  faith.  Within  a  month  of  the  death  of  Edward 
the  attempt  to  place  Lady  Jane  Grey  upon  the  throne 
was  crushed,  and  Mary  held  all  power.  She  too  was 
pious  and  bigoted,  but  on  her  mother's  side  and  in  her 
mother's  religion.  Around  her  clustered  the  most  violent 
partisans  of  the  old  school.     Cranmer  soon  found  that 


490  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  IIISTOR  Y, 

he  could  expect  no  mercy.  His  position  as  primate  of 
all  England  and  archbishop  in  the  second  see  of  West- 
ern Christendom  did  not  save  him.  He  had  defied  the 
papal  authorities,  declared  the  nullity  of  the  marriage  of 
Henry  and  Catherine,  given  up  estates  to  the  Crown  and 
done  all  he  could  to  further  the  Reformation.  His  influ- 
ence over  the  king  had  not  been  so  great  as  that  of  the 
far  abler  Wolsey  or  of  the  cunning  Cromwell,  but  it  had 
been  more  lasting.  The  sovereign  who  read  every  man's 
mind  that  he  cared  to  read  knew  the  sincerity  and  faith- 
fulness as  well  as  the  timidity  of  Cranmer.  When  Henry 
lay  dying,  he  would  see  no  divine  but  Cranmer;  and 
when  the  archbishop  pointed  him  to  Christ,  the  speech- 
less monarch  wrung  his  faithful  friend's  hand  and  died. 
But  this  very  attachment  only  still  more  embittered 
Mary  against  him. 

Early  in  August,  Cranmer  was  commanded  to  keep  his 
house  at  Lambeth,  and  about  the  middle  of  the  following 
month  he  was  committed  to  the  Tower.  Here,  with  Rid- 
ley and  Latimer,  he  remained  until  March,  1554,  when, 
with  them,  he  was  removed  to  Oxford,  to  dispute  with  the 
doctors  and  the  divines.  In  April  he  was  examined,  con- 
demned and  excommunicated,  then  sent  to  the  common 
jail.  As  yet  no  blood  had  been  shed  for  religion's  sake ; 
perhaps  Mary  was  reluctant  to  proceed  to  that  extreme, 
and  the  ecclesiastical  authorities  were  content  to  try  the 
effect  of  imprisonment,  disputations  and  the  spiritual 
weapon  of  excommunication.  But  when,  in  July,  Mary 
married  the  cruel  and  cold  Philip  of  Spain,  grand-nephew 
of  Catherine  of  Arragon,  the  "  secular  arm  "  began  to 
move  more  vigorously.  The  Jesuit  Carranza  was  placed 
in  charge  of  the  queen's  conscience,  and  soon  the  fires 


HENRY,    WOLSEY  AND   CRANMER.  49 1 

were  kindled.  In  the  spring  of  1555,  Rogers  at  Smith- 
field,  Saunders  at  Coventry,  Hooper  at  Gloucester,  Taylor 
at  Hadleigh,  and  Farrer  at  Carmarthen  died  at  the  stake  ; 
the  holy  John  Bradford  suffered  at  Smithfield  in  July, 
and  in  October  brave  Latimer  and  gentle  Ridley  were 
burnt  in  the  streets  at  Oxford.  Ere  long  it  may  be  truly 
said  the  land  was  "defiled  with  blood.  And  when,  with 
courtly  pomp  and  haughty  pride,  the  papal  legate  in 
November,  1555,  declared  England  forgiven  and  at  peace 
and  unity  with  the  holy  see,  if  the  sufferings  of  the 
martyrs  went  for  anything,  surely  the  atonement  was 
well  wrought  and  well  deserved. 

In  the  mean  time,  Cranmer  remained  in  prison;  before 
he  should  suffer  his  enemies  had  determined  to  cover 
him  with  shame.  A  braver  man  than  he  was  might  well 
have  flinched  in  the  hour  of  trial.  Naturally  timid,  the 
indignities  he  had  already  suffered,  the  loneliness  of  his 
position  and  the  horrors  of  his  prison-life  had  their  effect 
upon  him ;  so  that  he  learned  to  dread  the  fiery  death. 
There  was  none  of  Latimer's  dauntless  spirit,  nor  yet  of 
Bradford's  exultant  joy ;  and  when  life  was  offered  him, 
he  grasped  eagerly  for  this  last  hope.  We  may  blush 
for  his  weakness,  but  we  should  also  consider  his  pecu- 
liar temperament,  his  surroundings  in  the  Bocardo  and 
the  beguilements  of  his  persecutors.  In  their  devices  to 
make  an  unhappy  old  man  give  the  lie  to  his  life  they 
set  before  him  a  torturing  death  and  the  memory  of  more 
than  two  years'  imprisonment.  They  gave  him  mock- 
trials  ;  they  cited  him  to  appear  in  Rome  while  they 
still  kept  fast  his  prison  doors ;  six  times  he  was  induced 
to  write  and  to  sign  submissions  to  the  pope  and  recan- 
tations of  his  heresies.     The  price  offered  was  life,  but 


492  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Spanish  malice  and  Roman  malignity  could  not  spare 
such  as  he ;  and  so,  in  spite  of  their  promises  and  of 
what  he  had  done,  they  proceeded  in  February,  1556,  to 
degrade  him  from  his  episcopal  dignity  and  his  minis- 
terial office.  Then  Cranmer  pronounced  his  solemn  ap- 
peal from  the  pope  to  the  next  general  council,  but  in 
vain.  He  was  condemned  to  die,  and  the  twenty-first 
day  of  March  was  appointed  for  the  time  of  his  exe- 
cution. 

On  the  morning  of  that  day — it  was  a  foul  and  a  rainy 
day,  says  Foxe — the  archbishop,  clad  in  a  bare  and 
ragged  gown,  with  an  old  square  cap,  was  led  through. 
a  great  assembly  of  spectators  to  St.  Mary's  church, 
there  to  hear  a  sermon.  It  was  expected  that  he  would 
confirm  his  recantations,  and  therefore  he  was  suffered 
to  address  the  congregation,  but,  to  the  astonishment  of 
all  and  to  the  confusion  of  many,  he  boldly,  clearly  and 
uncompromisingly  declared  his  repudiation  of  Rome  and 
the  pope  and  his  adherence  to  the  principles  of  the  Ref- 
ormation. "  I  renounce  and  refuse,"  said  he,  **  as  things 
written  with  my  hand  contrary  to  the  truth  which  I 
thought  in  my  heart,  and  written  for  fear  of  death  and 
to  save  my  life,  if  it  might  be."  They  who  had  looked 
for  a  signal  triumph  now  fretted  and  fumed  and  gnashed 
their  teeth  in  rage.  They  insulted,  threatened  and  mal- 
treated him,  and  with  furious  hatred  and  haste  hurried 
him  from  the  church  to  the  place  of  execution.  There, 
on  the  very  spot  where,  six  months  before,  Latimer  and 
Ridley  were  burned,  they  chained  him  to  the  stake  and 
heaped  the  fagots  around  him.  Just  twenty-one  years 
had  passed  since  he  was  consecrated  to  the  see  of  Can- 
terbury;   now,  bareheaded   and   barefooted,   in   a   long 


HENRY,    WOLSEY  AND   CRANMER.  493 

coarse  garment,  he  stood  waiting  for  the  end.  The  fire 
was  kindled,  and  in  the  flames  the  old  man  thrust 
the  hand  that  had  signed  the  recantations,  exclaiming, 
*'  That  unworthy  hand — that  unworthy  hand  !"  There 
was  no  more  flinching,  no  more  fear.  From  amid  the 
darkening  smoke  and  the  lurid  flames,  above  the  crack- 
hng  of  the  fagots  and  the  tumult  of  the  crowd,  men 
heard  him  cry  again  and  again,  "  Lord  Jesus,  receive  my 
spirit !"  Ere  long  a  heap  of  ashes,  a  charred  stake  and 
a  chain  alone  remained.  Another  witness  had  joined 
the  noble  army  of  martyrs.  The  streets  were  deserted, 
the  rain  fell,  a  painful  silence  prevailed. 

There  were  those  in  the  Middle  Ages  who  thought 
no  greater  martyr  ever  died  than  Thomas  a  Becket ;  in 
later  times  the  palm  has  by  some  been  given  to  William 
Laud ;  but  in  the  usefulness  of  his  life  and  the  grandeur 
of  his  death  Thomas  Cranmer  is  the  peer  of  either.  He 
is  deserving  of  a  place  not  far  from  the  learned  Lanfranc 
and  the  saintly  Anselm — worthy  of  being  numbered 
amongst  the  worthiest  of  the  prelates  who  have  sat  in 
the  patriarchal  chair  of  St.  Augustine.  He  had  faults ; 
but  when  all  that  can  be  said  against  him  is  said,  he  still 
remains  a  noble  character.  The  people  of  Oxford  have 
in  St.  Giles's  Street  a  stately  reminder  of  the  great  arch- 
bishop, but  a  monument  more  enduring  and  more  pre- 
cious than  that  is  in  the  hand  of  every  churchman.  The 
Book  of  Common  Prayer,  the  homilies  and  the  Thirty- 
nine  Articles  are  an  undying  memorial  of  Cranmer. 
Upon  them  is  the  impress  of  his  soul ;  for  the  prin- 
ciples in  them  enunciated  he  both  wrought  and    died. 


CHAPTER    XVI. 

The  reign  of  Elizabeth  is  the  most  glorious  in  English 
history.  Its  romantic  charm  seems  to  gather  richness 
with  the  flow  of  time,  even  to  the  exclusion  of  all  other 
periods.  The  queen  herself  had  graces  and  accomplish- 
ments which  made  her  dear  to  the  people,  and  around 
her  was  a  galaxy  of  geniuses  who  have  scarcely  been 
equalled  either  for  bravery  and  endurance  or  for  creative 
force,  massive  learning  and  originality  of  idea  and  expres- 
sion. Her  policy  was  guided  and  furthered  by  such 
masters  of  state-craft  as  Cecil,  Walsingham,  Sir  Nicholas 
Bacon  and  Sir  Christopher  Hatton ;  they  made  her  throne 
secure  and  her  name  great  in  Europe.  Upon  the  seas 
voyagers  such  as  Drake,  Hawkins,  Frobisher  and  Raleigh 
carried  her  flag  around  the  world,  searched  out  the  hid- 
den wonders  of  the  waters  of  the  icy  north  and  the  sun- 
ny south,  and  maintained  their  countfy's  honor  against 
the  mighty  fleets  of  Spain.  In  those  days  Hollynshed 
and  Stow  compiled  their  chronicles  and  antiquities,  and 
Hakluyt  told  the  story  of  the  adventures  of  the  English. 
Then  Sydney  wrote  his  inimitable  love-sonnets — his 
"Astrophel"  and  "Stella" — and  Spenser  gave  the  world 
his  "Faery  Queene,"  which  for  allegory,  truthfulness, 
wealth  of  expression  and  vigor  and  beauty  of  imagi- 
nation is  among  the  first  of  noble  and  wonderful  works. 

494 


RICHARD   HOOKER.  495 

Then  dramatic  art  received  its  finish  from  Beaumont, 
Fletcher,  Massinger,  Ford,  Shirley,  Marlowe  and  Ben 
Jonson,  whilst  towering  high  above  them  all — above  not 
only  the  poets  of  his  own  time,  but  also  the  Homers  and 
Dantes  of  the  past  ages — the  grandest  and  noblest  of 
men,  was  William  Shakespeare.  His  unapproachable 
genius  cast  the  brightest  lustre  upon  the  times  in  which 
he  lived  and  gave  to  him  and  his  beloved  England  an 
immortality  of  glory  and  renown. 

Nor  was  the  age  wanting  in  men  of  scholarship  and 
ability  to  mould  the  thought  and  the  polity  of  the  Church. 
Among  the  rulers  were  Parker,  Grindal,  Whitgift  and 
Sandys  ;  among  the  teachers,  John  Jewel,  James  Pilking- 
ton  and  William  Fulke.  A  new  day  had  dawned,  and 
in  the  calm  of  its  early  hours  were  the  freshness  of  hope 
and  the  restlessness  of  freedom.  The  dew  dropped  from 
leaves  and  flowers  cool  and  tinted,  streams  flowed  merrily, 
birds  sang  gayly  and  the  sun  rose  above  the  tree-tops ; 
then  divines  such  as  these  girded  themselves  for  the 
work  and  with  might  and  main  wrought  for  the  ecclesi- 
astical settlement  of  England.  But  among  them  all  none 
was  greater  than  the  erudite,  judicious  and  temperate 
Richard  Hooker.  He  does  not  stand  beside  Shakespeare 
and  Bacon,  but  next  to  them  he  comes  the  first  of  the 
masters  of  that  age  of  master-minds.  His  influence 
upon  the  Church  is  still  great.  She  has  no  more  honored 
name  than  his,  no  divine  to  whom  she  listens  with  such 
reverence,  and  no  writer  who  more  unanimously  receives 
the  respect  of  every  school  of  thought  within  her  borders. 

Hooker  was  born  near  Exeter,  in  Devonshire,  in  the 
year  1553 — the  year  in  which  with  the  death  of  Edward 
and  the  accession  of  Mary  the  dark  clouds  settled  heavily 


49^  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

upon  the  Reformed  Church.  Of  the  reign  of  terror  the 
future  champion  of  Anglicanism  was  unconscious.  He 
was  but  a  lisping  child  when  Cranmer,  Ridley,  Latimer, 
Bradford,  Taylor,  and  others  of  the  white-robed  army  of 
martyrs,  were  passing  through  the  floods  of  fire  into  the 
heavenly  rest.  When  he  was  able  to  think  and  to  act, 
Mary  had  gone  to  her  account,  and  Elizabeth,  the  favorite 
of  England  and  the  star  of  hope  to  Protestant  Europe, 
reigned  in  her  stead.  Hooker,  however,  never  concerned 
himself  with  affairs  of  state ;  personally  he  knew  nothing 
of  the  queen  whom  he  loved  and  but  little  of  the  prelates 
whom  he  defended.  His  life  had  naught  to  do  with 
courts.  Humble  though  Hooker's  parents  were  in  re- 
spect both  of  riches  and  of  birth,  they  were  able  to 
send  him  to  the  grammar  school  in  Exeter,  where  by  his 
earnestness,  gravity,  quick  apprehension  and  industry  he 
soon  won  the  affections  of  his  master.  When  about  the 
age  of  eighteen,  he  passed  through  a  serious  illness  which, 
though  it  weakened  his  body,  brought  strength  and  grace 
to  his  soul.  He  went  back  to  his  studies  with  even 
deeper  conscientiousness  and  faith.  Already,  owing  to 
the  kindness  of  Bishop  Jewel  of  Salisbury,  was  he  a 
member  of  Corpus  Christi  at  Oxford,  and  both  a  favorite 
with  the  president  of  his  college  and  a  marked  man  in 
the  university.  In  due  time  he  proceeded  to  the  degrees 
of  bachelor  and  master,  was  elected  a  fellow,  and  was  even 
desired  to  read  the  university  lectures  in  Hebrew.  Finally 
he  received  orders,  and  about  1 580  accepted  the  appoint- 
ment of  preacher  at  St.  Paul's  Cross  in  London.  In  that 
year  was  born  Archbishop  Usher  and  were  published 
Montaigne's  lEssays. 

The  country  was  at  this  time  in  great  unrest.     Both 


RICHARD  HOOKER.  497 

in  Church  and  in  State  many  parties  were  contending 
for  supremacy.  Controversy  raged  fiercely,  and,  as  the 
queen's  instincts  warned  her  of  the  danger  of  such,  the 
repression  of  controversy  was  tried  with  an  iron  hand. 
On  the  one  side,  Rome  and  Spain  plotted  against  her, 
denouncing  her  right  to  the  throne  and  her  adherence 
to  Protestantism ;  on  the  other  side,  the  followers  of  Cal- 
vin rejected  her  ecclesiastical  settlement  and  sought  to 
continue  the  English  Reformation  until  it  reached  the 
completeness  of  that  of  Switzerland.  Both  papal  and 
Puritan  extremists  refused  to  admit  the  right  of  lay 
interference  in  the  government  of  the  Church;  both 
claimed  that  jurisdiction  was  given,  not  to  princes,  but 
to  the  clergy.  "  Know,"  said  Melville  to  James  VI., 
"  that  there  are  two  kings  and  two  kingdoms  in  Scot- 
land ;"  and  to  one  of  these — the  Church,  ruled  by  min- 
isters— was  even  James  subject.  To  this  principle  Eliz- 
abeth could  not  assent.  She  was  queen,  and  neither 
pope  nor  presbytery  should  stand  beside  her.  They 
might  have  their  own  opinions,  but  in  matters  of  gov- 
ernment, whether  secular  or  ecclesiastical,  the  Crown 
was  supreme.  Should  she  and  her  Parliament  be  obe- 
dient to  a  clerical  synod  ?  Should  the  papal  domination 
which  had  so  severely  tried  the  soul  of  England  in  past 
years  come  back  in  the  form  of  a  ministerial  dictator- 
ship ?  Not  for  one  moment  was  such  to  be  thought  of 
She  had  made  the  Church  broad  enough  for  all  reason- 
able and  loyal  people ;  if  any  refused  to  abide  therein, 
they  were  evidently  unreasonable  and  disloyal,  and  must 
be  treated  accordingly.  The  divines  might  grapple  with 
them  intellectually ;  if  that  failed,  then  she  would  grap- 
ple with  them  spiritually.    Upon  the  suppression  of  such 

32 


498 


READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 


depended  the  safety  of  England.  Therefore  to  prison 
went  both  Romanist  and  Puritan,  for  they  were  made  of 
obstinate  stuff,  and,  having  consciences  of  an  uncompro- 
mising texture,  they  feared  not  the  torture,  confiscation 
or  death.  Some  of  them  even  recognized  the  obHgation 
Elizabeth  was  under  to  punish  them ;  but,  obligation  or 
no  obligation,  Elizabeth  or  no  Elizabeth,  they  changed* 
not  their  mind.  The  one  went  to  the  scaffold  denoun- 
cing the  royal  supremacy ;  the  other  went  to  the  cell  cry- 
ing, "  God  save  Queen  Elizabeth !"  Such  were  heroic, 
but  they  were  not  right.  Society  cannot  be  held  to- 
gether without  some  compromise.  The  individual  must 
be  willing  for  the  good  of  the  multitude  to  sacrifice  some 
opinions  and  some  tastes. 

The  position  of  Elizabeth  was  one  of  great  difficulty ; 
she  could  not  suffer  the  coming  of  chaos  and  she  could 
not  ignore  the  fosterings  of  rebellion.  In  1570,  Pius  V. 
excommunicated  her  and  released  her  subjects  from  their 
allegiance,  yet  for  the  most  part  the  people  were  satisfied 
with  her  policy.  Thousands  of  the  clergy  wheeled  round 
at  her  bidding  as  loyally  as  they  had  done  at  the  bidding 
of  Mary.  General  conformity  was  all  that  she  desired, 
and  general  conformity  prevailed.  And  with  this  moder- 
ate, comprehensive  arrangement  Richard  Hooker  agreed. 
He  found  the  times  rent  and  troubled  by  the  adherents 
of  the  papacy,  and  by  the  disciples  of  a  rigid,  narrow, 
unyielding  puritanism ;  both  would  have  the  Church  of 
England  give  up  things  she  held  most  dear — the  one  her 
independence,  purity  of  doctrine  and  simplicity  of  wor- 
ship, and  the  other  her  historical  continuity,  her  Liturgy, 
her  orders  and  her  liberty  of  thought ;  and  against  both 
factions  he  lifted  up  his  voice.     Largely  leaving  the  Ro- 


RICHARD  HOOKER.  499 

man  controversy  to  Bishop  Jewel,  he  devoted  his  abilities 
to  the  vindication  of  the  Church  against  the  attacks  of 
the  Puritans,  following  them  from  argument  to  argument 
and  point  to  point  with  his  irresistible  logic  and  his  burn- 
ing thought  until  his  purpose  was  attained.  Moderate 
throughout,  he  avoided  all  extremes ;  thus  wisely  guid- 
ing his  craft  down  the  mid-current,  he  escaped  the  dan- 
gers on  either  shoie,  knowing  that  truth  rarely  lies  on 
the  outer  edge,  and  that  the  clearest  life  and  the  richest 
grace  will  the  sooner  carry  the  soul  to  the  ocean  of 
divine  purity  and  love. 

While  Hooker  was  preacher  at  St.  Paul's  Cross  he 
got  niarried,  and  soon,  like  many  another  genius,  he 
found  that  great  talents  and  domestic  felicity  rarely  go 
together.  The  first  time  Hooker  went  to  London  the 
wretched  and  aged  horse  he  rode  journeyed  so  leisurely 
through  the  pouring  rain  that  he  reached  the  city  wet, 
weary  and  weatherbeaten.  A  Mrs.  Churchman  enter- 
tained him,  and  after  a  day  or  two  in  bed,  by  her  care- 
ful nursing,  he  came  around  all  right.  The  kind  woman, 
seizing  the  opportunity,  told  him  that  he  was  of  a  ten- 
der constitution  and  needed  a  wife  to  nurse  him  and  to 
take  care  of  him.  To  this  Hooker  assented,  but,  hav- 
ing no  experience  in  such  matters,  he  commissioned  her 
to  select  him  such  a  wife,  assuring  her  that  he  would 
abide  by  her  choice.  The  landlady  promptly  gave  him 
her  daughter  Joan — a  damsel  void  of  either  beauty  or 
portion,  a  vixen  and  a  scold,  and,  notwithstanding  her 
surname,  strongly  twisted  to  Puritanism.  Into  this  un- 
suitable match  the  simple-minded  divine  entered,  and, 
as  good  Izaak  Walton  puts  it,  ever  after  he  had  just 
cause  to  exclaim  with  the  prophet,  "  Woe  is  me,  that  I 


50O  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

am  constrained  to  have  my  habitation  in  the  tents  of 
Kedar !"  Poverty,  tyranny  and  repentance  were  his  por- 
tion. He  at  once  lost  his  college-fellowship;  then,  in 
1584,  he  took  a  poor  country-parish  in  Buckingham- 
shire. Here  it  was  that  two  of  his  old  pupils  found 
him  in  the  field  reading  the  Odes  of  Horace  and  watch- 
ing his  little  flock  of  sheep ;  when  released  from  this 
duty  and  with  his  guests  returned  to  the  house,  "  Rich- 
ard was  called  to  rock  the  cradle."  The  young  men 
pitied  his  distress  and  at  once  endeavored  to  make  some 
better  provision  for  him. 

The  next  year  Hooker  was  made  master  of  the  Tem- 
ple. This  position  is  inferior  only  to  the  episcopal  throne 
and  to  the  deanery  of  Westminster.  The  church,  now 
rich  in  the  associations  of  six  centuries  and  splendid  in 
marble  pillars,  lofty  vaulting  and  knightly  effigies,  was 
built  by  the  wealthy  Templars,  and  on  the  dissolution 
of  their  order  eventually  it  passed  into  the  hands  of  the 
lawyers.  Hooker  found  on  entering  upon  his  duties  that 
the  afternoon  lecturer,  Travers,  was  a  Puritan,  and,  both 
men  being  positive  in  their  convictions,  controversy  broke 
out,  and  soon  the  morning  sermon  preached  Canterbury 
and  the  afternoon  sermon  Geneva.  Travers  charged 
Hooker  with  teaching  fifteen  erroneous  or  faulty  doc- 
trines, against  which  charge  Hooker  vigorously  defended 
himself  The  unseemly  conflict  went  on,  the  lecturer 
making  his  charges  at  one  service  and  the  master  an- 
swering them  at  another,  until  the  archbishop  of  Can- 
terbury interfered.  Travers  was  dismissed.  But  Travers 
was  an  eloquent  preacher  and  Hooker  was  dry  and 
uninteresting ;  so  the  lawyers  were  not  pleased.  Then, 
in  1 591,  Hooker  resigned  and  went  to  a  parish  in  the 


RICHARD  HOOKER.  50 1 

distant  diocese  of  Salisbury,  where  in  leisure  and  retire- 
ment he  began  his  immortal  work,  Of  the  Laws  of 
Ecclesiastical  Polity.  Upon  this  work  rests  his  fame. 
In  these  pages  his  genius  and  his  learning  won  for 
him  a  place  among  the  eminent  theologians  of  the 
Church. 

For  pointed  wit  and  polemic  dexterity  Hooker  may 
be  compared  with  Tertullian ;  for  keen  penetration  and 
glowing  imagination,  with  Origen ;  as  an  expositor  of 
Holy  Writ  and  for  a  pure,  devoted  life,  with  Chrysostom  ; 
and  for  deep  spirituality  and  clear  insight  into  the  heart 
of  man  and  into  the  ways  and  mysteries  of  God,  with 
Augustine.  His  scriptural,  patristic  and  classic  know- 
ledge is  evident.  Devoutly  reverent  of  the  past,  he 
reproduces  the  best  thoughts  of  the  early  and  the 
mediaeval  Church.  He  moves  in  the  via  media;  on 
the  one  hand  is  the  conservatism  which  would  restrain 
and  correct  the  progressive  and  varying  present,  and  on 
the  other  is  the  kindly  comprehensiveness  which  alone 
can  save  the  Church  from  becoming  a  mere  sect.  The 
popularity  of  the  writer  was  at  once  secured.  At  home 
and  abroad  his  skill  and  his  ability  were  recognized. 
When  Clement  VHI.  had  read  the  first  book,  he  said, 
"  There  is  no  learning  that  this  man  hath  not  searched 
into — nothing  too  hard  for  his  understanding.  This  man 
indeed  deserves  the  name  of  an  author;  his  books  will 
get  reverence  by  age,  for  there  is  in  them  such  seeds  of 
eternity  that  if  the  rest  be  like  this  they  shall  last  till 
the  last  fire  shall  consume  all  learning."  So  James  I. 
also  testified :  "  Doubtless  there  is  in  every  page  of  Mr. 
Hooker's  book  the  picture  of  a  divine  soul — such  pic- 
tures of  Truth   and   Reason,  and   drawn   in   so   sacred 


502  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

colors,  that  they  shall  never  fade,  but  give  an  immortal 
memory  to  the  author." 

Of  the  eight  books  into  which  the  work  is  divided, 
only  the  first  five  are  unmutilated;  the  others,  published 
after  his  death,  bear  the  marks  of  change  and  interpola- 
tion. The  best  known  are  the  first,  on  the  nature  and 
origin  of  law,  and  the  fifth,  on  the  ministers  and  details 
of  public  worship. 

Hooker's  power  lies  mainly  in  his  conception  of  the 
unity  of  truth  as  a  whole,  and  not  in  the  elaboration  or 
the  correctness  of  the  details.  From  the  immediate  and 
intuitive  apprehension  of  the  wide  subject  before  him  he 
proceeds  to  support  it  with  arguments  more  or  less  con- 
vincing. Not  unfrequently  in  the  fervor  of  his  eloquence 
he  loses  the  force  of  his  position ;  he  beautifies  his  lines 
with  splendid  flights  of  imagination  and  gives  to  his 
periods  glory  and  majesty  without  either  convincing  his 
adversary  or  satisfying  his  friend ;  and  not  unfrequently 
one  finds  one's  self  assenting  to  the  general  view  and 
disputing  the  reasons  given  to  support  that  view.  Here 
and  there  in  these  details  Hooker  ventures  upon  uncer- 
tain, if  not  dangerous,  ground.  He  tries  to  vindicate 
some  existing  fact  in  the  ecclesiastical  economy  which  is 
contrary  to  his  general  principles,  and  with  magniloquent 
rhetoric  he  defends  indefensible  positions.  He  says  the 
best  that  can  be  said  for  an  abuse,  but  that  best  is  as  a 
candle  exposing  the  darkness.  This  was  the  vulnerable 
side  which  the  Puritans  never  failed  to  attack.  The 
mountain  remained:  that  they  could  not  remove;  so 
they  looked  to  the  scraggling  bushes  and  to  the  broken 
points  upon  its  face.  But  such  defects  no  more  mar  a 
work  like  to  this  than  do  the  sun-spots  mar  the  light  or 


RICHARD  HOOKER.  503 

the  galled  leaves  the  oak.  No  one  now  approves  of  his 
defence  of  pluralities  and  non-residence ;  no  one  expects 
to  be  convinced  of  the  truth  and  the  aptness  of  every 
illustration  or  of  every  quotation.  The  attention  is  rather 
drawn  to  the  general  truth  presented.  Is  that  truth 
sufficiently  supported,  and  is  the  impression  of  that  truth 
left  upon  the  mind  healthful  and  consistent  with  other 
truths  ? 

The  first  ruling  thought  of  the  work  is  the  supremacy 
of  law.  A  keynote  is  sounded  in  the  opening  sentence  : 
"He  that  goeth  about  to  persuade  a  multitude  that  they 
are  not  as  well  governed  as  they  ought  to  be  shall  never 
want  attentive  and  favorable  hearers."  Of  this  the 
growth  of  religious  and  political  sects  is  ample  proof. 
Lawlessness  has  been  the  world's  bane  from  the  day  that 
Adam  and  Eve  preferred  whim  to  duty.  It  brought 
down  Satan  from  his  throne  and  created  the  Tartarus 
of  discord  and  wrath.  But  of  Law,  says  Hooker,  "  there 
can  be  no  less  acknowledged  than  that  her  seat  is  the 
bosom  of  God — her  voice  the  harmony  of  the  world." 
Providence,  Destiny  and  Nature  are  names  for  that  law 
by  which  the  Deity  governs  the  universe.  It  the  angels 
willingly  obey ;  it  to  understand  is  man's  first  duty. 
Hence  the  drift  and  the  purpose  of  Hooker  are,  first,  "  to 
show  in  what  manner,  as  every  good  and  perfect  gift,  so 
this  very  gift  of  good  and  perfect  laws,  is  derived  from 
the  Father  of  lights ;"  and  secondly,  "  to  teach  men  a 
reason  w^hy  just  and  reasonable  laws  are  of  so  great 
force,  of  so  great  use,  in  the  world."  Thus  is  Law  placed 
upon  the  throne :  **  All  things  in  heaven  and  earth  do 
her  homage — the  very  least  as  feeling  her  care,  and  the 
greatest  as  not  exempted  from  her  power,  both  angels 


504  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

and  men,  and  creatures  of  what  condition  soever — though 
each  in  different  sort  and  manner,  yet  all  with  uniform  con- 
sent— admiring  her  as  the  mother  of  their  peace  and  joy." 
Such  a  recognition  of  the  supremacy  and  the  force  of 
law  involves  an  almost  equally  strong  belief  in  conserv- 
atism. Novelty  and  change  are  dangerous,  only  excep- 
tionally associated  with  greatness.  Unless  circumstances 
demand,  why  should  the  experience  of  ages  be  set  aside? 
The  conclusions  of  the  past  were  oftentimes  evolved  out 
of  conditions — terrible  and  fiery  conditions  frequently — 
which  aroused  emotions  and  thoughts  such  as  are  neces- 
sary to  a  right  judgment.  At  great  cost  of  labor  and 
endurance  the  pioneer  cut  a  path  through  the  primeval 
forest ;  the  engineer  at  even  greater  cost  converted  it 
into  a  hard,  solid  road ;  since  then,  many  a  generation 
has  travelled  thereon,  finding  a  good  and  convenient 
highway,  and  whenever  necessary  has  made  repairs : 
shall  the  desire  for  novelty  destroy  their  work  and  make 
useless  their  experience  ?  So  with  the  eternal  verities, 
the  facts  of  religion  and  the  interpretation  of  infinite 
themes :  let  the  work  of  the  Fathers,  Schoolmen  and 
theologians — of  Augustine,  Anselm,  Aquinas  and  such 
like  giants  of  intellect  and  spirituality — be  reverenced, 
and  so  far  as  possible  allowed  to  direct  our  thought  and 
to  mould  our  devotion.  Let  the  stately  tree  grow  as 
long  as  it  can  grow ;  then,  if  dear  to  the  world,  let  its 
wood  be  cared  for — made  into  something  that  shall  re- 
mind the  centuries  to  come  of  the  oak  that  the  people 
of  old  loved.  Such  is  the  spirit  of  conservatism  which 
like  a  deep  and  pleasant  stream  flows  through  the  pages 
of  Hooker,  appealing  alike  to  tender  and  poetic  and  to 
positive  and  prosaic  tempers. 


RICHARD  HOOKER.  505 

On  the  other  hand,  however,  Hooker  teaches  that  the 
love  of  antiquity  and  of  custom  must  not  hinder  changes 
which  place  and  time  may  demand.  Reason  must  needs 
rule.  To  it  belongs  the  office  of  determining  the  laws 
of  the  moral  relations,  the  historical  development  and 
the  social  and  political  institutions  of  man,  of  distin- 
guishing between  what  is  changeable  in  them^ — between 
what  is  eternal  and  what  is  temporary  even  in  the  Bible 
and  in  the  Church.  That  is  a  safe  rule  in  theology 
which  rigidly  questions,  and  frequently  unflinchingly 
condemns  novelties ;  but  there  are  ways  of  presenting 
eternal  and  unchanging  truths,  modes  and  plans  of 
doing  the  same  work  which  necessarily  vary  in  differ- 
ent ages  and  in  different  lands.  In  his  objection  to  the 
ecclesiastical  dogmatism  of  Puritan  and  oi  Romanist  our 
author  abandoned  the  narrow  and  uncertain  ground  of 
scriptural  argument  to  base  his  conclusions  on  the  gen- 
eral principles  of  moral  and  political  science,  on  the  eter- 
nal obligations  of  natural  law.  He  denied  that  the  New 
Testament  taught  any  form  of  church  government,  and, 
though  he  held  that  bishops  were  of  God,  divinely  and 
providentially  constituted,  he  also  taught  that  circum- 
stances might  arise  in  which  the  Church  would  be  justi- 
fied in  and  capable  of  abolishing  their  order.  This  was 
on  the  principle  that  things  are  oftentimes  best  conserved 
by  wise  and  ready  change.  Buildings  have  been  saved 
for  ages  by  the  judicious  removal  of  somiC  part  which  in 
its  decay  threatened  and  endangered  the  whole.  When 
in  the  ecclesiastical  fabric  aught  appears  which  is  a  hin- 
drance, a  misrepresentation,  a  cumbrance,  a  corroding 
rust.  Hooker  claims  that  the  Church  should  exercise 
her  inalienable   right  to  cut  it  away.     The  question  is 


506  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  II I  STORY. 

not  SO  much  precedent,  or  even  scriptural  authority,  but 
does  the  thing  subserve  any  beneficial  purpose  ?  In  this 
Hooker  was  at  variance  on  the  one  hand  with  the  Ro- 
manist, who  clung  tenaciously  to  the  decrees  of  councils 
and  to  the  decisions  of  the  Fathers,  and  on  the  other  hand 
with  the  Puritan,  who  sought  to  find  in  the  New  Testa- 
ment a  complete  code  of  directions  concerning  polity, 
practice  and  worship.  He  would  reverence  both  author- 
ities, but  he  denied  that  in  either  was  legislation  for  all 
time. 

But  these  principles  of  law,  conservatism  and  reason 
are  only  the  body  of  the  work ;  piety  is  its  life  and  its 
soul.  Hooker's  immortality  does  not  come  from  his 
controversy  with  the  Puritans.  That  was  only  the 
accident  which  broke  the  alabastron  of  his  genius  and 
power.  Nobler  than  crushing  rejoinder  or  than  sharp- 
ened wit  are  the  sweetness,  humility,  Christ-mindedness 
and  purity  breathed  into  and  beautifying  his  every  page. 
In  his  life  a  divine  radiance  appeared,  suffusing  and  over- 
spreading all  that  he  said  and  did.  He  was  a  diligent 
preacher,  instructive  and  plain,  but  unassuming  and 
uninteresting,  and  thought  that  a  sermon  should  not 
exceed  one  hour  in  length.  A  little  thin  man,  short- 
sighted, with  stooping  shoulders  and  a  blotched  face, 
in  the  pulpit  he  was  not  attractive.  On  whatever  point 
he  fixed  his  eyes  when  he  began  his  discourse,  there  they 
remained  till  he  reached  the  end.  He  made  no  gestures 
and  used  none  of  the  arts  of  oratory,  but  in  every  utter- 
ance grace  abounded.  Discernment  shone  out  in  such 
a  line  as  this  :  "  To  make  a  wicked  and  a  sinful  man 
most  holy  tJwough  his  believmg  is  more  than  to  create  a 
world  of  nothing ;"  and  fervor  in  words  such  as  these : 


RICHARD  HOOKER.  507 

"  Oh  that  God  would  open  the  ark  of  mercy,  wherein 
this  doctrine  [of  faith]  Heth,  and  set  it  wide  before  the 
eyes  of  poor  afflicted  consciences,  which  fly  up  and 
down  upon  the  water  of  their  afflictions,  and  can  see 
nothing  but  only  the  gulf  and  deluge  of  their  sins, 
wherein  there  is  no  place  for  them  to  rest  their  feet." 
Sermons  in  which  such  passages  are  frequent  may  bring 
but  little  praise  to  the  preacher,  yet  they  redound  to  the 
glory  of  God.  Hooker  thought  not  of  self.  He  was 
even  timid ;  there  was  about  him,  says  Walton,  "  so 
blessed  a  bashfulness "  that  he  was  easily  looked  out 
of  countenance.  He  spent  hours — sometimes  whole 
days — in  the  church  in  prayer  and  meditation,  finding 
his  chief  delight  in  holy  places  and  holy  t^^'ngs,  in  the 
stillness  of  the  sanctuary,  in  the  pathos  and  exultation 
of  prayer  and  praise,  in  the  sweet  mystery  of  sacra- 
ments. "  What,"  he  asks — "  what  is  the  assembling  of 
the  Church  to  learn  but  the  receiving  of  angels  de- 
scended from  above  ?  What  to  pray,  but  the  sending 
of  angels  upward  ?"  As  a  pastor  he  was  most  exem- 
plary, visitijp(.f  his  sick,  settling  village  quarrels  and 
caring  for'  angers.  In  every  house  he  entered  he 
had  some  kind  word  of  exhortation  for  all  its  members 
and  blessed  each  one  of  them  by  name.  Thus  he  lived 
"  making  each  day  a  step  toward  a  blessed  eternity." 
And  thus  simply  by  diligence  and  a  holy  life,  in  spite 
of  his  defects  and  apart  altogether  from  his  great  talents, 
he  endeared  himself  to  his  people,  and  was  to  them  while 
he  lived  a  bright  and  shining  light,  and  after  he  died  a 
long-remembered  example  of  truth  and  holiness. 

Such  a  life  could  not  fail  to  impress  itself  upon  the 
teachings  and  the  thoughts  .of  the  Ecclesiastical  Polity, 


508  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

There  is  no  tinge  of  sentimental  ism,  but  a  calm,  digni- 
fied, intense  devotion.  Much  as  he  delighted  in  the 
splendor  of  churches,  he  protested  against  the  "  great 
care  to  build  and  beautify  these  corruptible  sanctuaries," 
and  the  little  care,  or  none,  "  that  the  living  temples  of 
the  Holy  Ghost,  the  dearly- redeemed  souls  of  the  peo- 
ple of  God,  may  be  edified."  Great  as  is  the  efficacy  of 
baptism  and  communion,  he  reminds  his  readers  that 
"  all  receive  not  the  grace  of  God  which  receive  the 
sacraments  of  his  grace."  He  kept  the  festivals  be- 
cause "  well  to  celebrate  these  religious  and  sacred 
days  is  to  spend  the  flower  of  our  time  happily."  At 
the  name  of  Jesus  he  took  off  his  hat  and  bowed  his 
knees ;  he  observed  seasons  of  fasting  and  practised 
private  confession  to  the  minister,  and  he  maintained 
the  indelibility  of  orders.  Of  his  opponents  he  writes  : 
"  It  is  our  most  hearty  desire,  and  shall  be  always  our 
prayer  unto  almighty  God,  that  in  the  selfsame  fervent 
zeal  wherewith  they  seem  to  affect  the  good  of  the  souls 
of  men,  and  to  thirst  after  nothing  more  than  that  all 
men  might  by  all  means  be  directed  in  the  way  of  life, 
both  they  and  we  may  constantly  persist  to  the  world's 
end."  Richly  does  his  soul  pour  forth  its  sweetness  in 
the  passage :  "  A  dutiful  and  religious  way  for  us  were 
to  admire  the  wisdom  of  God,  which  shineth  in  the 
beautiful  variety  of  all  things,  but  most  in  the  manifold, 
and  yet  harmonious,  dissimilitude  of  those  ways  where- 
by his  Church  upon  earth  is  guided  from  age  to  age 
throughout  all  generations  of  men."  He  sends  our 
thoughts  from  "the  footstool  to  the  throne  of  God," 
to  the  angels,  "  the  glorious  inhabitants  of  those  sacred 
palaces  where  nothing  but  light  and  blessed  immortal- 


RICHARD  HOOKER.  509 

ity,  no  shadow  of  matter  for  tears,  discontentments, 
griefs  and  uncomfortable  passions  to  work  upon,  but 
all  joy,  tranquillity  and  peace,  even  for  ever  and  ever, 
doth  dwell,"  and  he  reminds  us  that  those  holy  ones, 
"  beholding  the  face  of  God,  in  admiration  of  so  great 
excellency  they  all  adore  him,  and,  being  rapt  with  the 
love  of  his  beauty,  they  cleave  inseparably  for  ever  unto 
him."  Thus  he  speaks  of  the  book  of  Psalms  :  "  Hero- 
ical  magnanimity,  exquisite  justice,  grave  moderation, 
exact  wisdom,  repentance  unfeigned,  unwearied  patience, 
the  mysteries  of  God,  the  sufferings  of  Christ,  the  ter- 
rors of  wrath,  the  comforts  of  grace,  the  works  of 
Providence  over  this  world,  and  the  promised  joys  of 
that  world  which  is  to  come,  all  good  necessarily  to  be 
either  known  or  done  or  had, — this  one  celestial  foun- 
tain yieldeth.  Let  there  be  any  grief  or  disease  incident 
into  the  soul  of  man,  any  wound  or  sickness  named,  for 
which  there  is  not  in  this  treasure-house  a  present  com- 
fortable remedy  at  all  times  ready  to  be  found." 

Holy  and  inspiring  thoughts  such  as  these  lie  strewn 
over  the  pages  of  Hooker's  work — sweeter  far  than 
philosophical  or  theological  passages  even  though  set 
forth  with  all  the  graces  of  rhetoric  and  expanded  with 
the  sayings  of  the  men  of  old.  They  are  brilliant  and 
suggestive  as  the  stars  of  heaven,  fragrant  and  beautiful 
as  the  flower-clusters  of  the  garden. 

With  the  piety  and  the  general  principles  of  the  book 
the  Puritans  could  have  no  difference.  They  agreed  with 
the  premises,  but  objected  to  the  conclusions.  When 
read,  they  remained  as  dissatisfied  as  ever  with  the  Eliza- 
bethan policy.  It  was  a  law  which  was  impelling  them  to 
deny  Anglicanism;  it  was  the  necessity  of  change  which 


510  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY, 

suspended  the  love  of  conservatism.  They  could  not  deny 
Hooker's  ground,  therefore  they  attacked  the  little  flaws, 
the  faulty  details,  in  his  argument  which  ever  and  anon  ap- 
peared. For  a  while  Hooker's  labor  seemed  thrown  away, 
but  genius  can  wait;  now  his  views  prevail  in  Christendom. 
The  industry  and  the  perseverance  needed  for  the 
study  of  the  Ecclesiastical  Polity  have  a  threefold  reward. 
Something  of  the  spirituality  of  Hooker  must  needs  be 
imparted ;  the  soul  cannot  tarry  long  in  that  holy  and 
salutary  atmosphere  without  benefit.  Nor  can  the  ices 
of  narrowness  and  of  bigotry  remain  unaffected  in  the 
sunshine  of  his  great,  comprehensive  mind.  The  tend- 
ency, too,  will  be  created  to  think  kindly  of  the  heroic 
past  and  to  value  highly  the  heritage  coming  down 
through  the  ages  to  the  present.  The  student  of  Hooker 
will  be  neither  an  ecclesiastical  nor  a  theological  sec- 
tarian. He  will  learn  that  no  age,  no  land,  no  school, 
has  all  truth.  He  will  bow  before  mystery  and  will  re- 
fuse to  affirm  positively  concerning  unseen  or  unrevealed 
things.  Order  will  be  his  delight,  chaos  his  dread.  Services 
in  which  tl'ke  arts  of  music,  language,  ceremony  and  archi- 
tecture have  their  place  will ^  charm,  but  only  because 
they  suggest  the  beauty  and  the  devotion  of  the  land 
where  saints  and  angels  see  the  face  of  the  King. 
Kindly  disposed  toward  all,  he  will  yet  love  witli  an 
unfaltering  and  a  quiet  heart  the  Church  in  which  this 
great  master  wrought  and  in  which  God  has  cast  his  lot. 
Hence  the  individual  soul,  planted  in  the  garden  of  grace 
and  watered  by  the  teachings  of  this  book,  is  apt  to  grow 
into  the  noblest  type  of  Christianity,  and  to  become  a 
bulwark  of  strength  to  Sion  and  an  example  of  holiness, 
constancy  and  reason  to  the  faithful. 


F I  CHARD  HOOKER.  51I 

Richard  Hooker  remained  in  the  diocese  of  SaHsbury 
till  1595,  when  he  was  presented  by  the  queen  to  the 
rectory  of  Bishopsbourne,  in  Kent — an  ancient  village 
where  was  once  a  manor  belonging  to  the  archbishops, 
situate  near  the  highway  leading  from  Canterbury  to 
Dover,  and,  as  its  name  indicates,  upon  the  banks  of  a 
small  stream.  Here  the  good  man  both  completed  his 
Ecclesiastical  Polity  and  finished  his  course  on  earth. 

Of  the  great  events  of  that  age  of  excitement  Hooker 
makes  no  mention.  Such  things  indeed  lay  beyond  the 
scope  of  his  work,  though  scarcely  beyond  his  observa- 
tion. As  a  Protestant  he  must  have  thought  much  of 
the  Council  of  Trent,  which  after  it  had  formulated 
modern  Romanism  closed  its  sessions  in  1563,  when 
Hooker  was  yet  a  child ;  seven  years  later  his  blood 
must  have  been  stirred  with  the  tidings  of  the  Massacre 
of  St.  Bartholomew.  Like  most  Englishmen,  he  would 
smile  when  he  heard  that  Elizabeth  the  queen  had  been 
sought  in  marriage  by  Ivan  the  Terrible,  Philip  of  Spain 
and  the  duke  of  Alengon.  He  was  master  of  the  Temple 
when,  in  the  February  of  1587,  the  beautiful  and  unfor- 
tunate Mary  queen  of  Scots  was  brought  to  her  death. 
In  the  July  of  the  next  year  he  too  must  needs  have  had 
his  part  in  the  rejoicings  over  the  destructron  of  the 
Armada.  The  noise  of  the  busy  world,  rumors  from 
abroad,  gossipings  of  court,  adventures  of  travellers,  voy- 
agers and  soldiers,  tidings  of  new  books  and  plays,  and 
stories  of  human  dreams  and  realizations,  could  not  but 
penetrate  the  seclusion  of  his  study.  In  the  streets, 
wandering  hither  and  thither,  he  must  have  seen  the 
stately  pageant,  the  gayly-dressed  courtier,  the  busy 
merchant,  the  ruffed  lady  and  the  odds  and  ends  of  the 


5  1 2  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HIS  TOR  Y. 

unwashed  multitude.  He  may  have  noticed  with  interest 
the  black-timbered  houses  with  their  fantastic  carvings 
and  their  overhanging  upper  stories — perhaps  in  the 
shops  have  made  his  purchases  of  books,  quills,  medi- 
cines and  clothing.  But  there  is  no  trace  of  such  things 
in  his  pages,  no  allusion,  no  figure,  that  would  imply 
that  he  had  ever  seen  or  been  influenced  by  the  like. 
The  chief  means  by  which  England  has  been  made 
the  herald  of  God  to  the  remote  parts  of  the  earth  arise 
largely  from  her  geographical  position  and  her  maritime 
spirit.  In  the  seas  which  break  upon  her  shores  her 
sons  have  acquired  a  courage  and  a  love  of  adventure 
which  have  enabled  them  fearlessly  to  pass  into  danger- 
ous and  unknown  wilds,  and  to  face  alike  the  bleak, 
remorseless  winds  from  the  Arctic  and  the  huge,  rolling 
billows  of  the  Atlantic.  There  they  made  the  waters 
their  home,  the  white-caps  and  the  wave- roar  their 
delight.  And  when  one  wanders  upon  the  tide-washed 
sands  near  to  the  swish  of  the  surf,  in  the  clean  white 
foam,  the  expanse  of  dark  and  undulating  water,  the  sky 
set  with  changing  clouds,  the  seafowl  sweeping  hither 
and  thither  in  the  streams  of  the  wind  and  the  vessels 
far  away  upon  the  ocean-dip,  one  is  moved  to  admira- 
tion and  to  joy ;  but  happier  still  is  the  mariner  when 
the  stiff  and  steady  breeze  fills  the  sails  and  sends  the 
barque  bounding  over  the  main.  No  aeolian  harp  is 
sweeter  than  the  whistling  rigging ;  no  organ  has  a 
nobler  note  than  the  deep  sough  of  the  sea.  And  the 
voyager  of  old  longed  to  guide  his  shining  keel  along 
the  untravelled  and  the  unnamed  ways  and  to  plant  his 
country's  flag  upon  distant  strands.  He  looked  toward 
the  weird  waste  and  turned  his  vessel's  prow  toward  the 


RICHARD  HOOKER.  513 

line  where  the  salt  spray  seemed  to  wash  the  sky.  So 
in  remote  ages  the  Accad  had  looked  from  the  rocks  of 
Syria  upon  the  Mediterranean  and  from  the  Iberian 
straits  the  Phoenician  had  peered  into  the  Western  ocean ; 
he  too  would  know  what  lay  beyond  his  ken.  And 
thus,  in  "  the  wide  joy  of  waters,"  he  wandered  along 
the  shores  of  earth's  continents  and  gave  English  names 
to  bays  and  rivers,  to  capes  and  islands,  and  to  England's 
realm  added  regions  rich  in  treasures  and  vast  in  extent. 
The  vigor  and  the  daring  of  the  sea-sweepers  were 
severely  tried  in  these  days.  Philip  had  lost  all  hope 
of  winning  England  and  destroying  Protestantism  by 
means  of  matrimony.  In  1588  he  was  ready  to  try  force. 
To  humiliate  Elizabeth  and  to  destroy  her  realm  and  her 
Church  he  prepared  the  Armada.  The  pope  gave  it  his 
benediction,  and  Spain  styled  it  great,  noble  and  invinci- 
ble. England  waited  for  the  struggle.  When  the  first 
sails  werq,  seen  from  her  shores,  the  beacon-fires  flashed 
from  point  to  point  along  the  coast  and  through  the  land 
from  hill  to  hill  and  from  tower  to  tower,  a  supreme 
moment  in  the  life  of  the  nation — the  moment,  indeed, 
in  which  it  behoved  all  good  men  to  cry  aloud  to 
Heaven  and  to  gird  on  the  sword.  None  but  the  dead 
slept  that  night.  To  arms !  to  arms !  and  the  clash  of 
weapons,  the  tramp  of  horses,  the  ringing  of  bells,  the 
sounding  of  trumpets  and  the  march  of  men  betokened 
the  spirit  of  the  people — the  resolve  that,  should  the 
Spaniard  win  English  land,  never  should  he  rule  English 
men.  Little  thought  they  that  on  their  success  depended 
the  future  not  only  of  their  own  country,  but  also  that 
of  the  nations  yet  unborn — of  a  republic  and  a  dominion 
in  the  West  and  of  an  empire  in  the  Australasian  seas. 
33 


514  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

But  no  excitement  carried  them  away ;  coolly  and  calmly 
they  awaited  the  approach  of  the  foe.  Even  when  the 
Armada  neared  the  rocks  of  Plymouth,  Sir  Francis 
Drake  would  have  finished  his  play  of  bowls.  "  Plenty 
of  time,"  said  he,  "to  win  the  game  and  beat  the  Span- 
iards." Out  of  the  Sound  sailed  the  English  fleet — small 
and  poor,  but  having  on  board  souls  of  fierce  and  daunt- 
less courage.  They  followed  the  great  sea-host  of  Spain 
up  the  Channel — a  fearful  host,  but  three  years  later  Sir 
Richard  Grenville  in  his  good  barque  the  Revenge  alone 
fought  fifty  Spanish  ships,  each  ship  larger  than  his  own. 
On  sailed  the  Armada — one  hundred  and  thirty-two 
ships,  to  say  nothing  of  the  caravels,  with  three  thousand 
cannon  and  of  sailors,  soldiers,  slaves  and  gentlemen 
more  than  four  and  thirty  thousand,  besides  a  hundred 
and  fifty  monks  and  a  vicar  of  the  Inquisition.  Close 
on  their  heels  came  the  English  men-of-war,  nimble 
and  fleet,  and  soon  the  tiny  Disdain  began  the  attack  by 
pouring  a  broadside  into  one  of  the  laggards.  Then  the 
Ark  Royal,  the  Revenge,  the  Victory  and  the  Triumph 
did  a  good  afternoon's  work.  A  dark  night  with  a  heavy 
sea  was  followed  by  a  long  day's  battle — so  well  done 
that  next  morning  the  Spaniard  cared  not  to  renew  the 
fight.  Thus  the  western  men  harassed  the  enemy 
through  the  Channel,  till  in  the  Straits  the  Armada  suf- 
fered so  much  that  the  Spanish  admiral  determined  to 
return  to  Spain — not,  however,  by  way  of  Plymouth,  but 
around  the  North  of  Scotland.  The  ruin  was  completed 
by  a  fearful  storm  off  the  Orkneys ;  many  ships  went 
down,  others  were  driven  ashore,  a  few  escaped  and  some 
returned  to  the  Channel,  to  fall  into  the  hands  of  the 
English  cruisers.    About  the  end  of  September  the  rem- 


RICHARD  HOOKER.  515 

nant  of  the  Armada  reached  Santander,  and  England 
sang  her  thanksgiving  to  the  God  of  battles. 

By  this  victory  was  secured  the  cause  for  which  mar- 
tyrs had  died  and  Reformers  had  wrought.  None  could 
again  imperil  the  work  either  of  Luther  in  Germany  or 
of  Cranmer  in  England,  nor  would  the  old  chains  ever 
be  refastened  upon  the  nations  or  the  New  World  be 
dragged  into  the  slavery.  The  voyagers  went  on  with 
the  discovery  of  strange  lands  and  with  the  planting  of 
colonies ;  the  foundations  of  commonwealths  were  laid ; 
political  and  religious  freedom  was  maintained ;  the 
sea  was  made  the  highway  of  the  nations ;  and  the 
Church  of  an  island  extended  to  the  ends  of  the  earth. 
These  things  engaged  the  age,  but  they  did  not  engage 
the  mind  of  Hooker.  They  interest  us  far  more  than 
they  affected  him. 

But  a  picture  of  Hooker  in  his  quiet  country  parish 
may  be  given  not  wholly  imaginary.  Here  he  shines  as 
the  loving  pastor  and  the  loyal  priest,  doing  well  his  duty 
both  to  God  and  to  man.  He  was,  it  is  true,  in  a  district 
where  decay  had  already  set  in.  Earlier,  Kent  was  second 
only  to  Norfolk  for  trade  and  for  manufactures,  and  was 
superior  to  all  the  counties  for  its  shrines  and  its  relics. 
When  the  Reformation  came,  there  were  no  more  pil- 
grimages to  the  tomb  of  the  blissful  martyr  St.  Thomas ; 
and  when  Dover  began  to  lose  its  position  as  the  gate- 
way between  England  and  France,  business  fell  off  in 
the  towns  and  villages  along  the  London  Road.  But 
with  the  passing  away  of  prosperity  and  with  the  coming 
of  seclusion  Nature  put  on  her  most  beautiful  dress. 
Nowhere  else  has  she  sought  to  make  amends  for  all 
defects  with  such  a  loving,  bountiful  hand.     Kent  is  not 


5l6  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

the  finest  of  the  forty  counties,  but  it  is  full  of  nooks  of 
exquisite  loveliness.     Bishopsbourne  is  one  of  these. 

Hooker  wandered  from  cottage  to  cottage  along  rough 
roads,  but  the  cottages  were  thatched  with  straw  on 
which  the  lichen  grew  and  in  which  the  swallow  and 
the  sparrow  made  their  nest.  There  were  rose-bushes 
by  the  door,  and  there  was  a  pet-flower  in  the  diamond- 
paned  windows.  Within,  the  floors  were  earth  or  stone 
covered  with  rushes ;  simple  furniture.  Outside,  the  pigs 
and  the  poultry  had  the  lane  to  themselves.  Beyond  the 
village  stretched  the  common  where  the  peasant  had 
his  bit  of  corn-land  and  found  pasture  for  his  cow  and 
his  sheep.  From  the  towers  of  Canterbury,  three  miles 
away,  came  once  in  a  while  the  sound  of  pealing  bells. 
Uneventful,  poor,  simple,  but  a  paradise  for  a  studious 
parson. 

Quiet,  happy,  sympathetic  and  with  a  strong  spice  of 
good-humor.  Hooker  loved  and  understood  his  people. 
He  appreciated  their  old-fashioned  ways  and  their  quaint 
sayings,  their  dogged  perseverance,  independent  spirit, 
love  of  fair  play,  strange  inconsistencies,  and  their  end- 
less varieties  of  character,  temper  and  aim.  He  joined 
with  them  in  their  mirth  as  well  as  in  their  sorrow. 
Their  games  and  their  pastimes,  wassailings  and  wakes, 
church  and  bridal  ales,  had  an  interest  for  him.  He  saw 
their  merrymakings  at  the  festive  seasons — the  cutting 
of  the  cake  on  Twelfth  Night,  the  rough  play  of  Plough 
Monday,  the  burning  of  the  holly-boy  and  the  ivy-girl  at 
Shrovetide,  the  bringing  home  the  hawthorn  and  the 
crowning  of  the  queen  in  the  glorious  month  of  flowers, 
the  dances  and  the  kindling  of  the  bonfires  on  Midsum- 
mer eve,  the  feasting  and  the  songs  of  harvest-home,  and, 


RICHARD  HOOKER.  517 

above  all,  the  joys  of  the  merry  Christmas-tide.  His 
heart,  too,  must  have  been  touched  by  chimes,  waits 
and  carol-singing;  he  must  have  rejoiced  at  the  unre- 
served mingling  of  rich  and  of  poor  in  the  days  of  com- 
mon gladness.  Perhaps,  as  was  usual  with  the  clergy  of 
his  time,  he  may  have  sat  with  book  and  beer  by  his 
side,  and  have  watched  the  morris-dancings,  quintals, 
cudgel-plays  and  foot-ball  on  the  village  green.  Walton 
gives  us  a  glimpse  of  his  behavior  when  the  people  beat 
the  bounds  of  the  parish.  These,  having  been  ascertained 
by  the  rector,  church-wardens  and  older  parishioners  in 
lieu  of  maps  and  surveys,  were  severally  pointed  out  to 
the  village  boys  and  forcibly  impressed  upon  their  mem- 
ories. Here  one  would  be  thrown  into  the  brook  ;  there, 
another  soundly  whipped ;  and  there,  another  bumped 
vigorously  against  a  wall,  tree,  post  or  the  ground.  The 
amusement  and  chagrin  occasioned  were  not  forgotten 
within  the  twelvemonth.  Hooker  always  accompanied 
such  perambulations,  and  "  he  would  usually  express 
more  pleasant  discourse  than  at  other  times,  and  would 
then  always  drop  some  loving  and  facetious  observations 
to  be  remembered  against  the  next  year,  especially  by 
the  boys  and  young  people."  Not  that  Hooker  saw  and 
appreciated  the  home-life,  the  pastimes,  the  lightsome 
passions  and  the  picturesque  surroundings  of  the  coun- 
try-people as  did  the  charming,  frolic-loving  Herrick, 
England's  sweetest  lyric  poet.  He  was  rather  after  the 
heart  of  the  quaint  angler  who  wrote  his  biography — 
moved  at  the  song  of  the  birds,  the  rippling  of  streams 
and  the  pleasantries  of  humanity;  but  quietly  so.  If 
he  ever  handled  the  rod  and  the  line,  he  would  be  most 
apt  to  follow  the  counsel  of  the  excellent  Dame  Juliana 


5l8  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Berners  and  to  say  his  prayers  or  engage  in  meditation 
while  waiting  for  the  fish  to  bite. 

But  this  sympathy  with  the  lighter  side  of  human 
nature — beneficial  as  it  is  to  all  men,  and  necessary  as 
it  is  to  one  given  to  deep  and  wearing  study — was  only 
incidental  to  Hooker.  His  home  was  amid  ecclesiasti- 
cal rather  than  social  surroundings.  In  his  village  sanc- 
tuary he  was  as  one  standing  in  the  vestibule  of  heaven, 
his  face  radiant  with  celestial  light  and  his  heart  throb- 
bing with  angelic  emotions.  The  church  in  which  he 
ministered  -is  still  standing,  but  is  much  altered.  Like 
the  religious  edifices  of  those  times,  it  lacked  conve- 
niences and  comforts  now  thought  necessary.  There 
were  no  pews ;  only  a  few  plain  oak  benches  here  and 
there.  In  cold  weather  there  was  no  fire,  and  in  dull 
days  no  light.  Evening  service  was  held  before  the  sun 
went  down ;  morning  service,  before  the  mists  had  risen 
from  the  water-side.  In  the  summer  the  church  floor 
was  strewn  with  sweet-smelling  rushes,  and  in  the  win- 
ter with  straw.  The  communion-table — then  called 
"  God's  board  " — was  in  the  body  of  the  church,  and  not 
in  the  chancel,  so  that  in  the  celebration,  like  the  pope 
of  Rome,  the  clergy  of  the  out-of-the-way  churches  of 
Dalmatia  and  the  ministers  of  Geneva,  the  priest  faced 
the  people.  Men  wore  their  hats  in  church ;  perhaps — 
as  elsewhere — brought  their  hounds  and  hawks  to  the 
services,  and  whispered  one  to  another  about  weather, 
crops  and  gossip.  In  some  places  pedlers  plied  their 
trade  in  the  church  porch  before  and  after  prayers.  The 
service  was  much  the  same  as  now;  the  psalms  were 
sung,  but  there  were  no  hymns.  In  the  morning  some- 
times a  homily  was  read,  less  frequently  a  sermon  was 


RICHARD  HOOKER.  519 

preached,  the  length  of  the  latter  depending  upon  the 
ecclesiastical  proclivities  of  the  preacher.  If  an  Angli- 
can, it  might  end  within  the  hour;  if  a  Puritan,  the 
period  would  be  between  two  and  three  hours.  It  was 
doctrinal  or  expository  rather  than  practical,  a  treatise 
rather  than  an  essay;  sometimes  interesting,  always 
profitable,  for  George  Herbert  hath  it, 

"  The  worst  speak  something  good :  if  all  want  sense, 
God  takes  a  text,  and  preacheth  patience." 

For  the  youth  there  was  catechizing  after  the  second 
lesson  at  evening  prayer.  Little  came  in  to  break  the 
monotony ;  once  in  a  while  a  christening,  a  wedding  or  a 
funeral.  Most  men  would  have  lapsed  into  undisturbed 
restfulness  ;  not  so  Hooker.  His  zeal  and  his  devotion 
were  not  dependent  upon  external  things.  Whether  vis- 
ited or  not  by  bishop  or  by  archdeacon,  he  did  his  duty 
fearlessly  and  faithfully,  as  in  the  sight  of  God.  For 
him  the  Church  had  no  higher  preferment ;  he  foresaw 
not  the  glory  that  should  be  his  of  moulding  the  thought 
and  kindling  the  love  of  the  sons  and  daughters  of  the 
Church  he  so  well  loved ;  he  knew  not  that  by  the  con- 
sent of  ages  he  would  be  crowned  with  a  coronet  of  im- 
perishable glory ;  nor  did  he  care.  Hence  the  prayer  of 
his  pious  biographer :  "  Bless,  O  Lord — Lord,  bless  his 
brethren,  the  clergy  of  this  nation,  with  effectual  endeav- 
ors to  attain,  if  not  to  his  great  learning,  yet  to  his 
remarkable  meekness,  his  godly  simplicity  and  his  Chris- 
tian moderation ;  for  these  will  bring  peace  at  the  last." 
In  the  last  year  of  the  sixteenth  century,  and  in  the 
forty-sixth  year  of  his  age,  this  excellent  divine  entered 
into  his  rest.     His  last  illness  was  marked  with  the  same 


520  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

holy  thought  that  had  characterized  his  hfe.  He  medi- 
tated upon  '*  the  number  and  the  nature  of  angels,  and 
their  blessed  obedience  and  order,  without  which  peace 
could  not  be  in  heaven."  He  longed  that  it  might  be  so 
on  earth.  To  his  friend  Dr.  Saravia  he  said,  "  I  have 
lived  to  see  this  world  is  made  up  of  perturbations,  and 
I  have  been  long  preparing  to  leave  it,  and  gathering 
comfort  for  the  dreadful  hour  of  making  my  account 
with  God,  which  I  now  apprehend  to  be  near;  and, 
though  I  have  by  his  grace  loved  him  in  my  yoiitli,  and 
feared  him  in  mine  age^  and  labored  to  have  a  conscience 
void  of  offence  to  him  and  to  all  men,  yet  if  thou,  O 
Lord,  be  extreme  to  mark  what  I  have  done  amiss,  who 
can  abide  it  ?  And  therefore,  where  I  have  failed.  Lord, 
show  mercy  to  me,  for  I  plead  not  my  righteousness,  but 
the  forgiveness  of  my  unrighteousness,  for  His  merits 
who  died  to  purchase  pardon  for  penitent  sinners ;  and 
since  I  owe  thee  a  death.  Lord,  let  it  not  be  terrible,  and 
then  take  thine  own  time ;  I  submit  to  it.  Let  not  mine, 
O  Lord,  but  let  thy  will,  be  done."  The  words  in  ital- 
ics indicate  a  spiritual  experience  somewhat  uncommon, 
and  yet  natural  to  one  who  had  thought  so  deeply  upon 
the  mysterious  majesty  of  God  and  the  order  which  pre- 
vails in  his  immediate  presence.  When  the  end  came.  It 
was  as  the  touch  of  an  angel :  a  short  conflict,  a  faint 
sob,  and  the  soul  was  in  the  everlasting  light. 

A  November  morning,  the  day  of  the  commemora- 
tion of  the  faithful  departed,  the  passing-bell  announced 
to  Bishopsbourne  that  victory  had  come  to  the  beloved 
rector.  Ere  long  his  remains  were  carried  through  the 
lichgate  to  the  grave  in  the  chancel  of  his  parish  church. 
There  they  still  lie.     Had  they  who  saw  the  earth  receive 


RICHARD  HOOKER.  52 1 

her  trust  foreshadowed  the  night  of  shame  and  sorrow 
that  should  succeed  the  sunlit  evening  of  the  Elizabethan 
age,  they  would  have  thanked  God  that  he  had  taken  to 
himself  one  whose  loving,  childlike  heart  could  never 
have  endured  the  darkness,  desolation  and  defeat. 


CHAPTER   XVII. 

Puritanism  neither  began  with  the  Hampton  Court 
Conference  nor  ended  with  that  of  Savoy.  It  existed  long 
before  1604  and  long  after  1 661,  but  these  are  time- 
marks  in  its  history  between  which  it  attained  to  and 
fell  from  its  greatest  strength  and  glory.  At  no  time 
earlier  or  since  were  its  better  and  its  worse  sides  so 
distinctly  shown.  And  this  fact  suggests  the  caution 
not  to  judge  either  Puritanism  or  Anglicanism  by  its 
exaggerations,  whether  good  or  bad.  No  movement  in 
which  the  passions  are  powerfully  excited  and  the  actors 
are  deeply  in  earnest  can  escape  running  to  extremes. 
Hence  a  representation  of  the  great  religious  parties  of 
the  seventeenth  century  which  creates  absolute  disgust 
or  absolute  approval — which  makes  the  one  the  perfec- 
tion of  wisdom  and  charity  and  the  other  a  caricature  of 
humanity — is  unreasonably  and  cruelly  unjust.  In  truth, 
no  period  in  history  demands  more  careful  judgment, 
greater  love  and  more  setting  aside  of  prejudice  than  do 
the  sixty  years  between  the  day  when  James  I.  threatened 
to  harry  every  Puritan  out  of  the  land  and  the  day  when 
amid  storm  and  dying  hopes  the  Lord  Protector  passed 
from  among  men. 

The  Elizabethan  attempt  to  include  the  whole  people 
within  one  national   and  comprehensive  Church   failed 

522 


THE  PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  523 

because  the  age  knew  nothing  of  compromise  and  cared 
nothing  for  charity.  Cranmer's  theory  of  reformation  was 
that  whatever  in  the  Church  was  contrary  to  the  written 
word  and  the  practice  of  early  Christianity  should  be 
rejected ;  otherwise,  it  might  remain.  This  theory  satis- 
fied many ;  it  failed  utterly  with  the  remnant  of  Rome, 
which  held  that  the  mediaeval  Church  was  as  infallible  as 
the  primitive,  and  with  the  adherents  of  Calvin,  who  had 
no  faith  whatever  in  ecclesiastical  authority.  Thus  were 
developed  three  definite  schools,  each  disagreeing  with 
the  other  two  and  each  aiming  at  supremacy.  On  one 
thing,  however,  the  Anglican  and  the  Puritan  were 
agreed :  Rome  should  never  again  have  power  in  Eng- 
land. Charles  I.  had  a  French  wife,  but  he  besought 
that  none  should  defame  "  the  pious,  sober  and  devout 
actions  of  those  reverend  persons  who  were  the  first 
laborers  in  the  blessed  Reformation."  Both  Anglican 
and  Puritan  united  in  love  for  the  martyrs  and  in  hatred 
for  the  persecutors  ;  and  after  the  Gunpowder  Plot,  Rome 
had  little  hope  or  chance.  This  gave  opportunity  for 
the  growth  of  the  antagonism  between  the  opponents  of 
the  old  system.  They  speedily  placed  between  them- 
selves, unhappily  not  a  chasm,  but  a  field  in  which  to 
war  and  to  shed  each  other's  blood. 

From  the  first  the  Puritan,  inspired  by  such  as  Calvin, 
Bullinger  and  Zwingle,  disliked  the  conservatism  which 
ruled  in  the  English  Reformation.  He  neither  recog- 
nized the  value  of  historical  or  organic  continuity  nor 
cared  for  episcopacy,  vestments  or  liturgical  services. 
Time  strengthened  his  prejudices  and  defined  his  posi- 
tion. He  became  positive  in  doctrine.  God,  he  held, 
makes  himself  known  to  man  by  a  direct  communica- 


524  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

tion  of  his  Spirit;  hence  the  superiority  of  preaching. 
The  inward  and  spiritual  grace  was  more  than  the  out- 
ward and  visible  sign ;  therefore,  even  if  rites  and  cere- 
monies were  not  superstitious,  they  were  unnecessary. 
Upon  curious  questions  and  bafflitig  mysteries  he  not 
only  speculated,  but  also  dogmatized ;  so  that  emotions 
were  examined  and  prescribed,  works  decided,  and  the 
number  of  the  reprobate  and  the  nature  of  future  pun- 
ishment ascertained.  The  AngHcan,  on  the  other  hand, 
taught  that  God  reveals  himself  to  the  individual  by 
means  of  operations  external,  thus  making  sacraments, 
acts  of  charity  and  devotion  and  the  services  of  the 
sanctuary  both  aids  to  faith  and  means  of  grace.  He 
valued  episcopacy  because  by  it  the  ages  were  linked 
together  and  the  ministry  and  the  ministrations  made 
sure.  He  positively  refused  to  enter  into  the  realm  of 
mystery,  to  declare  aught  concerning  things  not  clearly 
revealed  or  to  ordain  uniformity  of  thought  or  feeling. 
In  the  desire  for  personal  holiness  and  for  the  renovation 
of  the  times  he  was  as  eager  as  the  Puritan,  as  much 
addicted  to  prayer,  fasting  and  meditation,  and  as  earnest 
that  the  glory  of  God  should  prevail.  But  he  shunned 
alike  the  dogmatism  of  Rome  and  the  dogmatism  of 
Geneva.  The  asserted  infallibility  of  both  was  to  him 
abhorrent.  It  was  not  possible  that  all  grace,  know- 
ledge, righteousness  and  truth  was  confined  either  to 
papal  or  to  Puritan  Christians.  The  one  had  dimmed 
and  defiled  the  past,  so  beautiful  and  sweet,  so  tenderly 
appealing  to  the  calm  and  gentle  soul ;  the  other  would 
blot  it  out  for  ever,  abolishing  the  loveliness  of  worship, 
the  triumphs  of  architecture  and  music,  the  lines  of 
prayer  and  praise  which  for  long  centuries  had  expressed 


THE   PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  525 

the  devotions  of  holy  men,  and  in  their  place. substi- 
tuting a  distasteful  plainness  and  poverty  of  worship, 
surrounding  and  service.  Plence  that  which  attracted 
the  one  repelled  the  other.  They  regarded  the  Church 
from  opposite  points  of  view :  the  Puritan  deemed  it  a 
society  of  men  voluntarily  banded  together  for  the  pur- 
poses of  edification  and  benevolence,  and  the  Anglican 
as  a  divine  organization  in  which  dwelt  the  Holy  Ghost, 
speaking  through  the  bishops  the  things  of  God.  In 
the  one  case  the  individual  cared  for  and  controlled  the 
Church  ;  in  the  other  the  Church  cared  for  and  controlled 
the  individual.  The  more  intense  conviction  became  on 
either  side,  the  greater  grew  the  mutual  misunderstanding 
and  bitterness.  The  Puritan  regarded  the  Anglican  as 
godless  because  he  cared  for  the  externals  of  religion, 
and  the  Anglican  likewise  condemned  the  Puritan  be- 
cause he  ignored  them.  Neither  party  could  perceive 
that  each  system  counterbalanced  the  other,  and  that 
both  were  necessary  to  a  perfect  Church.  The  essence 
of  Christianity  did  not,  indeed,  lie  in  the  forms  and 
ceremonies,  the  outward  expressions  of  religion.  They 
were  as  the  shell  to  the  kernel,  but  He  who  made  the 
kernel  saw  fit  to  enclose  it  in  and  to  defend  it  with  the 
shell,  and  in  the  preservation  of  the  faith  and  the  develop- 
ment of  devotion  these  accessories  have  their  part  and 
are  not  wholly  human. 

No  better  exponents  of  their  respective  systems  could 
there  be  than  Launcelot  Andrewes  and  Richard  Baxter. 
The  former  was  from  1619  to  1626  bishop  of  Winchester, 
the  latter  from  1641  to  1660  vicar  of  Kidderminster. 
Their  devotion,  zeal  and  purity  are  beyond  all  question. 
The  ripe  scholarship  of  Andrewes  made  him  first  among 


526  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

the  translators  of  the  Authorized  Version  and  a  most  ac- 
complished exegete  of  both  the  inspired  and  the  patris- 
tic writings ;  the  lack  of  academic  training  did  not  mar 
the  usefulness  of  Baxter.  Both  were,  indeed,  greater  in 
heart  and  broader  in  mind  than  the  schools  to  which 
they  belonged ;  possibly,  had  such  as  they  been  brought 
into  close  contact,  the  mingling  of  vigor  and  gentleness, 
of  impetuosity  and  calmness,  would  have  been  hastened. 
Neither  man  ever  swerved  from  the  distinctness  and  the 
definiteness  of  his  principles.  .  Andrewes  was  an  ascetic, 
an  indefatigable  student,  a  munificent  and  conscientious 
prelate  and  an  attractive  preacher.  His  sermons  were 
full  of  odd  conceits  and  quaint  word-plays,  but  flowing 
through  all  was  a  profound  spirituality.  For  a  quarter 
of  a  century  he  stood  forth  the  great  doctor  of  the  An- 
glican Church ;  and  when  he  died,  both  Crashaw  and 
Milton  celebrated  him  in  verse.  The  latter  poet  repre- 
sents him  as  entering  Paradise  in  the  robes  of  his  order  ;  a 
Puritan  publisher  declares  that  *'to  name  him  was  enough 
praise."  The  Manual  of  Private  Devotions,  in  which  is 
displayed  the  rarest  of  all  gifts — that  of  composing  pray- 
ers— is  a  favorite  book  in  the  hands  of  the  Anglican 
clergy. 

The  glory  of  grace  in  this  holy  bishop  shines  with 
equal  lustre  in  Baxter.  Weak  in  body,  but  active  in 
mind  and  chastened  in  soul,  he  was  great  as  a  pastor,  an 
author  and  a  controversalist.  When  he  went  to  Kidder- 
minster, a  few  only  professed  to  be  moral ;  ere  long  ''  a 
passing  traveller  along  the  streets  at  a  given  hour  heard 
the  sounds  of  praise  and  prayer  in  every  household." 
He  refused  to  wear  the  surplice,  administer  the  Lord's 
Supper  or  use  the  sign  of  the  cross  in  baptism ;  bishops 


THE  PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  527 

he  disliked  and  disobeyed ;  to  such  services  as  Andrewes 
dehghted  in  he  gave  no  praise ;  but  he  approved  of  the 
Prayer-book  generally.  The  severity  of  his  theology 
may  be  seen  in  his  Call  iq  the  Unconverted ;  the  sweet 
beauty  of  his  soul,  in  the  Saint's  Everlasting  Rest.  His 
works  are  said  to  have  still  a  matchless  circulation 
among  the  English-speaking  race.  He  died  in  169 1,  his 
last  words,  "  Almost  well." 

The  Church  of  England  has  no  greater  glory  than 
that  translation  of  the  sacred  Scriptures  commonly  called 
"  the  Authorized  Version."  In  its  production  the  two 
schools  of  thought  within  her  pale  loyally  and  unself- 
ishly united.  Both  Anglican  and  Puritan,  forgetting 
for  the  nonce  their  differences  and  "  supported  within 
by  the  truth  and  innocency  of  a  good  conscience,  hav- 
ing walked  the  ways  of  simplicity  and  integrity,  as  be- 
fore the  Lord,"  were  one  in  their  hopes  that  by  their 
labors  the  Church  of  England  should  reap  good  fruit. 
While  engaged  in  that  work  no  shadow  of  ecclesiastical 
disturbance  fell  upon  them.  They  were,  indeed,  happy 
in  the  accession  of  a  prince  who  manifested  his  zeal  "  by 
religious  and  learned  discourse,  by  frequenting  the  house 
of  God,  by  hearing  the  word  preached,  by  cherishing 
the  teachers  thereof,  by  caring  for  the  Church  as  a  most 
tender  and  loving  nursing-father."  Posterity  has  not 
been  so  liberal  in  its  appreciation  of  King  James,  but  the 
men  of  that  day  had  good  hope  because  he  had  quietly 
succeeded  to  the  work  of  Elizabeth  and  secured  peace 
for  England.  A  sentence  of  exquisite  beauty  in  the 
epistle  dedicatory  cannot  too  often  be  read  :  "  Among 
all  our  joys,  there  was  no  one  that  more  filled  our  hearts 
than  the  blessed  continuance  of  the  preaching  of  God's 


528  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

sacred  word  among  us,  which  is  that  inestimable  treas- 
ure which  excelledi  all  the  riches  of  the  earth,  because 
the  fruit  thereof  extendeth  itself  not  only  to  the  time 
spent  in  this  transitory  world,  but  directeth  and  dis- 
poseth  men  into  that  eternal  happiness  which  is  above 
in  heaven."  The  words  were  written  by  Miles  Smith, 
bishop  of  Gloucester,  and  express  the  true  spirit  of  both 
parties ;  but  stormy  days  soon  arose  to  rend  asunder  the 
readers  of  the  Book. 

In  their  noblest  life  Puritanism  tended  to  an  active, 
masculine  type  of  Christianity  and  Anglicanism  to  a  quiet, 
passive,  feminine  development.  The  keynote  of  the  one 
was  duty ;  of  the  other,  meditation.  One  would  bring 
heaven  down  to  earth ;  the  other  would  lift  earth  up  to 
heaven.  The  most  beautiful  illustration  of  the  gentler 
characteristic  is  found  in  George  Herbert.  In  the  little 
village  of  Bemerton,  of  which  he  was  made  rector  in 
1630,  by  the  holiness  and  sweetness  of  his  life  he  set 
forth  the  graces  of  devotion,  self-denial,  tenderness  and 
love.  Wherever  he  went  his  influence  was  for  right- 
eousness. When  in  the  evening  his  bell  tolled  for  pray- 
ers, the  shepherd  and  the  ploughman  would  stay  their 
work  that  they  too  might  breathe  a  prayer  to  Heaven. 
His  love  of  service  blended  with  a  quiet,  thoughtful  de- 
votion, out  of  which  soil  sprang  the  tenderest  blossoms 
of  poetic  feeling.  Yet,  like  his  friend  the  saintly  Nich- 
olas Farrer,  George  Herbert  sought  to  avoid  rather  than 
to  meet  the  storms  of  life.  His  parish  was  a  refuge 
where  he  could  shelter  and  hide  himself  from  the  world. 
There  he  created  a  spiritual  paradise.  Around  him  he 
saw  the  myriad-sided  sacrament  of  nature ;  bees,  clouds, 
flowers  and  birds  conveyed  to   his  mind  the  grace  of 


THE   PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  529 

assurance  and  consolation.  His  pure,  earnest  soul 
seemed  to  bring  forth  fruit  at  all  times  and  without 
effort.  He  wrote  poems  like  those  of  Donne — full  of 
"  quaint  words  and  trim  invention,"  and  in  which  are 
displayed  the  transparent  sincerity,  sublime  devotion 
and  beautiful  piety  of  a  man  after  God's  own  heart. 
For  long  has  the  world  esteemed  the  Temple  as  display- 
ing the  true  soul  of  Anglicanism.  Such  men,  however, 
fail  in  the  day  of  religious  or  social  change.  They  have 
the  sweetness  of  the  rose,  and,  like  the  smooth  sea  be- 
neath the  summer's  sun,  awaken  indolent  delight  and 
dreamy  pleasure,  but  there  is  nothing  in  them  of  the 
sturdy  oak  or  of  the  ocean  wild  and  furious  with  storm, 
attracting  and  entrancing  the  soul. 

The  type  of  the  active  spirit  of  religion  is  John  Milton. 
Pure,  devout,  liberal  and  poetical  was  he,  but  duty  sent 
him  out  among  men  to  fight  and  to  struggle  against 
abuses  and  wrongs.  Instead  of  a  haven,  such  as  he  love 
nothing  better  than  the  conflict  and  the  terror  of  storms. 
George  Herbert  listens  to  the  chiming  of  bells  and  the 
singing  of  choirs,  and  they  remind  him  of  heaven  ;  he 
prays,  **  Oh  that  I  were  with  the  angels  there !"  Milton 
also  was  moved  by  the  sweet  strains  of  music  to  think 
of  the  better  land,  but  his  feeling  was  by  the  sweeping 
away  of  sin,  injustice  and  folly  to  make  this  earth  "  keep 
in  time  with  heaven."  Hence  the  magnificence  and 
majesty  of  Paradise  Lost — utterly  unlike  the  violet-like 
gentleness  of  the  Temple  or  the  Christian  Year,  but 
expressing  the  vigor,  energy,  restlessness  and  glory  of 
the  Puritan,  his  theology,  social  life  and  aspirafions.  He 
flung  himself  into  the  turmoil  of  the  times  with  the  zest 
and  the  strength  of  a  master-spirit.  Scorn,  contempt 
34 


530  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

and  a  sword  had  he  for  all  that  stood  in  his  way.  The 
hand  of  the  Lord  was  upon  him,  and  he  moved  among 
men  with  the  grandeur  and  force  of  one  of  his  celestial 
creations.  But  such  men  wound  and  crush  needlessly. 
They  have  no  sympathy  with  and  cannot  understand 
others  who  are  not  as  they  are.  They  excite  fear  and 
admiration,  but  obtain  neither  love  nor  worship. 

There  was,  indeed,  a  time  when  Milton  had  the  pure 
imagination,  the  sensuous  glow  and  the  pagan  touch 
which  brought  forth  such  abundant  fruits  in  Shakespeare. 
Spenser  and  Ben  Jonson.  In  his  early  days  he  could 
write  odes  upon  the  Nativity  and  May  morning,  epitaphs 
upon  the  bard  of  Stratford  and  the  university-carrier, 
sing  of 

"  the  breathing  roses  of  the  wood, 
Fair  silver-buskin'd  nymphs," 

and  wander  with  delight 

"  By  the  rushy-fring^d  bank 
Where  grows  the  willow  and  the  osier  dank ;" 

but  this  was  twenty  years  before  he  set  pen  to  Paradise 
Lost.  By  the  end  of  that  long  period  the  Muse  which 
created  a  Comiis  and  an  L Allegro  had  received  the  im- 
press of  the  severest  form  of  Puritanism.  In  the  fight 
with  bishops  and  kings  the  gentle-spirited,  cultured  and 
sympathetic  youth  changed  into  a  man  of  iron  will, 
intense  purpose,  single  idea  and  consuming  energy.  For 
ever  vanished  the  heart-power  which  brought  his  first 
work  near  to  the  most  charming  of  earth's  poetry.  His 
indignant  earnestness  made  him  intolerant,  vituperative, 
vengeful  and  unjust.  Into  his  soul  entered  the  fulness 
of  the  gloom  of  Genevan  thought:  for  the  one  of  his 
own  type,  heaven  ;  for  all  others,  remoTsele;3S  malediction 


THE   PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  53  I 

and  everlasting  damnation.  Bound  by  the  ligaments  of 
a  narrow  Puritanism,  his  spirit  never  rises  into  the  realms 
of  imagination  nor  enters  the  gardens  of  luxuriant  meta- 
phor, rich  speech  or  happy  suggestion  where  Dante  was 
so  thoroughly  at  home.  His  Jehovah  is  a  monarch 
governing  by  constitution  and  giving  to  a  council  of 
angels  reasons  for  his  policy ;  his  Satan  is  a  republican 
whose  great  sin  has  been  to  attempt  in  heaven  what  the 
Puritans  tried  in  England.  After  a  fashion  very  earthy 
and  human,  courts  are  held,  battles  fought,  judgments 
pronounced  and  laws  enacted.  Adam  and  Eve  live  and 
love  in  the  prudish  and  prosaic  style  of  people  who  be- 
lieve in  supralapsarianism  and  final  perseverance ;  the 
husband  teaches  the  wife  the  duty  of  obedience,  and  the 
wife  promises  the  husband  unquestioning  fidelity  and 
implicit  trust.  The  dialogue  in  Paradise  between  the 
first  parents  gives  one  of  the  best  glimpses  extant  into 
a  home  such  as  Milton  desired,  but,  unhappily,  owing 
either  to  his  own  blunder  or  to  the  perversity  of  woman- 
kind, such  as  he  did  not  obtain.  Severe  and  unsympathetic, 
heavy  and  forceful,  the  great  epic  flows  on,  noble  in  its 
might  and  exact  in  its  construction  and  sentiment,  at 
times  reaching  passages  of  beauty  and  of  grandeur;  but 
even  the  bursts  of  sunshine  illumine  without  playfulness 
and  the  word-pictures  lose  their  exquisiteness  in  arti- 
ficiality. There  is  little  to  touch  the  world's  heart.  Like 
Assyrian  tablets,  the  poem  is  treasured,  but  {^v^  among 
men  wade  into  its  shallowest  waters,  much  less  plunge 
into  its  slow-moving  depths,  and  none  like  to  think  of 
Milton  in  this  last  expression  of  his  soul.  And  yet 
echoes  of  the  early  days  sometimes  return,  showing  that 
underneath  there   still   remained  a  touch  of  the  spirit 


532  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

which  dwelt  ever  in  George  Herbert  and  had  once 
influenced  him.    Here  he  speaks  of  the  worship  in  heaven  : 

"The  harp 
Had  work,  and  rested  not;  the  solemn  pipe 
And  dulcimer,  all  organs  of  sweet  stop. 
All  sounds  on  fret  by  string  or  golden  wire, 
Temper'd  soft  tunings,  intermix'd  with  voice 
Choral  or  unison :  of  incense,  clouds 
FuHling  from  golden  censers  hid  the  mount." 

Milton  did  not  receive  this  suggestion  from  Puritanism : 
men  of  the  school  of  Calvin  love  neither  organs  nor  in- 
cense ;  on  the  contrary,  it  comes  from  such  far-off  lines 
as  the  well-known  prayer  in  //  Penseroso^  in  which  appears 
the  churchman  rather  than  the  author  of  Areopagitica^ 
the  recluse  rather  than  the  man  of  the  world : 

"  But  let  my  due  feet  never  fail 
To  walk  the  studious  cloisters  pale. 
And  love  the  high-embowed  roof 
With  antic  pillars  massy  proof, 
And  storied  windows  richly  dight,  , 
Casting  a  dim  religious  light: 
There  let  the  pealing  organ  blow 
To  the  full-voiced  choir  below 
In  service  high  and  anthems  clear, 
As  may  with  sweetness,  through  mine  ear. 
Dissolve  me  into  ecstasies 
And  bring  all  heav'n  before  mine  eyes. 

And  may  at  last  my  weary  age 
Find  out  the  peaceful  hermitage, 
The  hairy  gown  and  mossy  cell 
Where  I  may  sit  and  rightly  spell 
Of  every  star  that  heav'n  doth  show 
And  ev'i-y  herb  that  sips  the  dew. 
Till  old  experience  do  attain 
To  something  like  prophetic  strain." 


THE   PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  533 

Perhaps  it  was  well  that  Milton  should  develop  other- 
wise than  according  to  this  early  promise.  He  was  to 
be  the  expression  of  a  life  distinct  from  that  suggested 
by  these  lines — the  epiphany  of  a  spirit  which  had  little 
in  common  with  that  of  the  opposite  religious  school. 

In  that  age  these  active  and  passive  types  of  character 
were  distinct  and  uncompromising.  Not  that  all  An- 
glicans were  as  George  Herbert  or  all  Puritans  as  John 
Milton :  unhappily,  these,  like  Bishop  Andrewes  and 
Richard  Baxter,  are  the  noble  and  exceptional  develop- 
ments ;  but  these,  though  far  asunder,  show  that  virtue 
and  truth  were  on  both  sides.  Could  th^  have  been 
brought  together,  the  one  would  have  supplied  the  de- 
fects of  the  other,  and  the  result  would  have  been  for 
the  glory  of  God  and  the  good  of  man. 

The  antagonism  between  tkcm  was  political  as  well 
as  religious.  Into  this  side  of  the  question,  however,  we 
may  not  enter  except  allusively.  Noble  souls  arrayed 
themselves  against  one  another;  perhaps  none  are  re- 
membered with  greater  affection  than  Hampden  and 
Montrose,  Essex  and  Falkland,  Lord  Brook  and  John 
Evelyn.  There  were  moderate  men,  too,  on  both  sides 
— some  who  warred  not  to  defend  bishops,  but  to  avoid 
a  Puritan  domination,  and  some  who  fought  not  to  se- 
cure a  commonwealth,  but  to  maintain  the  common 
rights  against  episcopal  or  monarchical  domination. 
Nor  was  the  war  one  of  classes :  on  both  sides  were 
nobility,  clergy,  gentry,  tradesmen  and  peasants.  Both, 
also,  were  dauntless  in  courage :  Essex  rides  off  to 
Northampton  carrying  with  him  his  coffin  and  his 
winding-sheet,  together  with  the  'scutcheon  which 
would  be  needed  at  his  funeral ;  Lady  Derby  defended 


534  READINGS  IN  CHUkCH  HISTORY. 

Lathom  house  and  courageously  corrected  the  enemy's 
herald  when  he  read  the  summons  to  surrender.  "  You 
should  have  said  '  the  cruelty  of  Parliament,'  "  observed 
the  countess. — '*  No,"  the  man  answered ;  "  the  mercy 
of  Parliament." — "  The  mercies  of  the  wicked  are 
cruel,"  said  the  lady,  with  a  quiet  smile.  So  at 
Edgehill  that  fervent  royalist  Sir  Jacob  Astley  cried, 
"  Lord,  thou  knowest  how  busy  I  must  be  this  day. 
If  I  forget  thee,  do  not  thou  forget  me. — March  on, 
boys !"  At  Thame  the  hero  of  Chalgrove,  John  Hamp- 
den, exclaimed  in  his  dying  agony,  "  O  Lord,  save  my 
country !"  J^hus  the  conscientiousness  which  divided 
the  nation  into  two  hosts  gave  neither  the  sole  posses- 
sion of  devotion  and  courage.  Both  fought  well,  both 
died  well.  Bitter  toward  each  other  and  intolerant  of 
each  other's  views,  they  both  thought  themselves  de- 
fenders of  the  faith,  champions  of  the  liberties  of  P^ng- 
land  and  servants  of  God. 

Of  morals  both  Anglican  and  Puritan  regarded  his 
opponent  destitute.  On  the  one  side  were  drunken, 
game-loving  cavaliers  and  curates ;  on  the  other,  self- 
righteous,  Pharisaical  hypocrites.  The  one  sang  songs, 
enjoyed  feasting,  danced,  hunted  and  was  afraid  of 
nothing  so  much  as  to  be  thought  a  Puritan ;  the 
other  avoided  gayety,  frequented  sermons,  droned  out 
psalms,  dressed  gravely,  and  dreaded  naught  so  much 
as  the  suspicion  of  being  an  Anglican.  There  was  a 
mutual  desire  to  get  as  far  away  from  each  other  as 
possible,  and  by  this  desire  many  were  forced  into  ex- 
tremes of  life  and  conduct  which  neither  their  tastes 
sanctioned  nor  their  conscience  approved.  It  was  the 
fault  of  Heaven  that  they  breathed  the  same  air   and 


THE   PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  535 

trod  the  same  ground.  Yet  when  they  lost  sight  of 
this  fooUsh  hatred,  in  the  hearts  of  both  CavaHer  and 
Roundhead  the  grace  of  God  prevailed  and  showed 
itself  in  commendable  lives  and  pure  homes.  The  one 
was  not  the  frivolous,  wicked,  profane  wretch,  and  the 
other  was  not  the  austere,  sour,  unearthly  sinner,  that 
men  thought  them.  Both  were  really  in  their  better 
moments  trying  to  live  a  holy  life,  banishing  from  their 
actions,  words  and  thoughts  all  that  was  derogatory  to 
the  glory  of  the  King  whose  servants  they  professed  to 
be.  The  forbidding  exterior  either  of  untimely  ffiirth 
or  of  uncalled-for  severity  was  not  all :  the  soul  was 
enriched  with  true  manliness,  salutary  fear,  honor  and 
truth.  Like  an  eastern  window  of  a  cathedral  in  the 
early  morning,  looked  at  from  without  it  appears  full 
of  deformities  and  blotches,  a  mass  of  darkened  absurd- 
ity fantastically  set  in  the  wickered  Gothic ;  looked  at 
from  within,  the  sunshine  is  tinged  with  the  ruby  and 
green  and  gold  and  violet,  figures  of  wondrous  beauty 
appear,  and  where  everything  seemed  discordant  all  is 
harmony — the  morning  light  woven  into  a  very  poem 
of  such  sweet  grace  that  in  adoring  raptures  the  soul  is 
lifted  up  from  the  earthly  temple  to  the  heavenly  sanc- 
tuary above.  In  one  home  was  the  earnest  and  devout 
Colonel  Hutchinson;  in  the  other,  the  pure  and  dainty 
Dorothy  Osborne. 

That  the  Puritan  lacked  sympathy  with  nature  is  not 
altogether  true.  Intense  religiosity  too  often  creates  a 
subjectivity  and  a  love  of  introspection  which  alienate 
the  mind  from  the  surrounding  world,  but  this  spirit  was 
an  excrescence,  and  not  a  legitimate  development  of 
either  system.     The  normal  Puritan  saw  nature  setting 


536  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

forth  the  glory  of  his  God  in  such  a  way  that  from  his 
heart  continually  arose  the  sacrifice  of  praise.  Instead 
of  being  morose  and  miserable,  he  breathed  the  happy, 
joyous  air  of  a  paradise  of  delights.  We  may  picture 
him,  a  yeoman,  in  his  rough  homespun  garments,  with 
his  Bible  in  his  hand,  traversing  one  of  those  glorious 
woodland  walks  so  common  in  England  and  meditating 
upon  the  rich  imagery  of  the  Israelitish  prophets,  yet 
ever  and  anon  glancing  at  the  still  richer  expression  of 
God's  power  and  love  around  him — upon  the  great  mossy 
arm^of  giant  elms  entwined  overhead  in  an  arch  grander 
than  a  minster's  vaulted  roof,  upon  the  green  sward  by 
the  roadside  blooming  with  its  wild  flowers  and  bounded 
in  by  thick  hedges  snowy  with  the  hawthorn-blossom 
and  alive  with  the  song  of  merry  birds,  and  then  down 
the  valley  to  the  little  brook  where  the  willows  grow 
upon  the  brink  and  amid  the  flags  and  rushes,  the  home 
of  the  kingfisher  and  the  wild  duck,  and  where  in  days 
gone  by  he  used  to  cast  a  line  into  the  limpid  stream  and 
shout  for  joy  when  he  landed  carp  or  tench  or  perch  or 
pike.  If  he  trembled  at  the  thought  of  man's  wicked- 
ness and  God's  wrath  when  the  thunder  rolled  along  the 
hills,  he  also  rejoiced  when  he  saw  the  golden,  saffron 
glory  of  the  setting  sun  and  thought  of  the  land  of  rest 
beyond.  He  was  not  dry  or  unreal,  only  a  man  with  a 
sober  mind  and  an  earnest  soul,  living  from  day  to  day 
as  one  to  whom  eternity  was  real  and  the  things  unseen 
were  visible.  His  home  was  the  abode  of  purity  and 
contentment — a  dim  but  true  foreshadowing  of  the  better 
home  for  which  his  highest  duty  was  to  prepare  himself 
and  his  family.  He  looked  upon  his  brave  boys,  Valiant- 
for-Truth,  Zeal-of-the-Lord  and  Win-the- Fight,  and  his 


THE   PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  537 

fair,  rosy  Patience  with  loving  pride  and  anxious  heart ; 
and  though  he  warned  them  to  have  naught  to  do  with 
AngHcans,  Quakers  or  Anabaptists,  but  to  avoid  all  their 
evil  ways  and  vain  imaginations,  he  also  guarded  them 
against  vice  and  crime,  against  shame,  dishonor  and  the 
wiles  of  Satan.  His  abstinence  from  profane  oath  and 
unhallowed  jest,  his  plainness  of  attire  and  dislike  of 
outward  pomp  and  show,  his  delight  in  the  Sabbath,  his 
reverence  for  the  sacred  Scriptures  and  his  realization  of 
the  presence  of  God  made  him  a  witness  for  righteous- 
ness. He  trembled  when  James  I.  in  the  famous  and 
unfortunate  proclamation  of  May  24,  1618,  "signified 
his  pleasure  that  after  the  end  of  divine  service  on  the 
Lord's  day  the  good  people  should  indulge  themselves 
in  lawful  sports,  such  as  dancing,  archery,  leaping,  vault- 
ing, May-games,  Whitsun-ales,  morris-dances,  and  such 
like."  It  was  enough  to  see  the  clergy  wear  the  "  rag  of 
popery,"  to  hear  the  words  of  the  Book  of  Common 
Prayer  and  to  witness  the  multitude  of  meaningless 
ceremonies,  but  such  desecration  of  the  holy  day  was- 
beyond  sufferance.  This,  however,  was  by  no  means  all. 
Of  course  the  Puritan  was  narrow  and  intolerant ;  most 
men  wece  in  those  days.  In  England  he  objected  to  the 
clergy  using  the  surplice ;  when  he  got  to  Amsterdam, 
he  denounced  the  women  for  wearing  cork  heels  and 
whalebone  corsets.  He  complained  of  the  large-hearted- 
ness  of  the  Church  in  claiming  as  her  children  both  the 
good  and  the  bad,  and  making  the  ignorant  and  the 
vicious,  the  publican  and  the  harlot,  equally  with  the 
wisest  and  best  of  her  sons,  the  objects  of  her  care.  No 
wonder,  said  he,  such  a  Church  was  corrupt  and  formal ; 
no    wonder,   therefore,    he    condemned   and    struggled 


53^  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Qf^ainst  her.  And  he  had  the  courage  of  his  convictions. 
He  was  as  dauntless  as  were  his  opponents.  Finding 
tJie  ideal  of  a  pure  and  sinless  community  impossible  in 
England,  some  fled  to  the  Continent  and  sought  a  home 
there.  Then,  again  failing,  they  determined  to  cross  the 
Atlantic  and  build  a  sanctuary  in  the  wilderness.  A 
company  was  formed,  permission  from  the  king  was 
obtained,  and  two  small  vessels — one  of  one  hundred 
and  eighty  tons  and  the  other  of  sixty  tons — were 
chartered.  About  one  hundred  and  twenty  persons, 
men,  women  and  children,  crossed  over  from  Holland  to 
Southampton ;  thence  they  sailed,  but  the  smaller  ship 
leaked  so  badly  that  it  had  to  be  abandoned  at  Plymouth. 
Then,  on  the  sixth  day  of  September,  1620,  the  little 
Mayflower,  with  its  burden  of  heavy,  hopeful  hearts, 
turned  its  prow  to  the  Western  waves.  One  by  one  the 
cold  gray  bulwarks  of  England  dropped  out  of  sight ; 
by  night  the  ship  was  alone  in  the  great  Atlantic.  Two 
months  passed  before  the  emigrants  saw  land  again ; 
another  month  ere  they  reached  the  harbor  to  which  was 
given  the  name  of  "  Plymouth."  On  the  ever-memorable 
eleventh  of  December  they  went  ashore  and  began  the 
settlement  of  the  new  England.  What  they  'suffered 
that  winter  imagination  only  can  suggest — hunger,  sick- 
ness, fatigue,  death.  When  April  came,  the  Mayflower 
sailed  away,  the  blue  waves  rolled  in  unbroken  to  the 
beach,  twenty  full-grown  men,  a  few  true-hearted  women 
and  some  tender  children  remained ;  at  the  end  of  the 
short  street  were  the  graves  of  the  loved  ones  who  had 
perished  that  winter,  and  beyond  them  was  the  perilous 
and  illimitable  wilderness.  A  small  beginning  ;  the  re- 
sult, the  majesty  of  a  nation  and  the  triumph  of  freedom. 


THE  PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  539 

The  Puritans  on  the  western  side  differed  not  from  the 
Puritans  on  the  eastern  side  of  the  Atlantic.  They  all 
desired  to  worship  God  as  they  pleased  ;  they  were  also 
determined  that  within  their  bounds  their  pleasure  alone 
should  be  observed.  When  churchman  or  Quaker  ven- 
tured among  them,  he  found  no  liberty  for  his  conscience. 
It  was  either  conformity  or  banishment.  Many  a  long 
day  had  to  pass  before  religious  freedom  touched  New 
England  ;  then,  when  the  Puritan  of  Massachusetts  and 
Connecticut  came  into  contact  with  the  Episcopalian  of 
Virginia  and  the  Friend  of  Pennsylvania,  he  learned  that 
the  Church  is  greater  than  a  sect  and  the  nation  more 
than  a  school.  In  England  both  Anglican  and  Puritan 
lost  their  identity  before  that  lesson  was  mastered. 

Archbishop  Laud  persecuted  the  Puritans  with  the 
same  unsparing  severity  that  the  Puritans  afterward 
exercised  toward  Anglicans.  His  character  has  been 
vehemently  disputed.  That  he  was  conscientious,  anx- 
ious to  do  good  and  pure  and  devout  in  his  life  his 
enemies  must  allow;  but  his  friends  also  must  admit 
that  his  zeal  lacked  discretion,  that  his  treatment  of 
opponents  was  unnecessarily  bitter  and  harsh,  and  that 
he  too  often  displayed  a  narrowness  of  mind  and  an 
irritable  anxiety  for  the  observance  of  small  things.  He 
was  too  much  a  disciplinarian  to  be  either  a  mystic  or 
an  ascetic.  Unlike  the  Puritans,  he  did  not  care  to  com- 
pel men  to  think  alike,  but  was  one  with  them  in  insist- 
ing upon  uniformity  of  action.  If  the  Puritan  lecognized 
no  Church  in  which  pure  doctrine  as  the  Puritan  de- 
fined it  was  not  preached,  neither  did  Laud  admit  the 
validity  of  any  that  were  not  under  the  control  of  bishops. 
He  loved  a  high  ritual,  and  held  that  the  king  and  his 


540  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

prelates  alone  have  authority  in  settling  religious  dis- 
putes. Yet  he  maintained,  as  at  the  conference  with  the 
Jesuit  Fisher,  May  24,  1622,  that  beyond  the  Scriptures 
and  the  Creeds  there  were  no  infallible  or  irreversible 
decisions ;  even  the  sentences  of  general  councils  were 
like  acts  of  Parliament — open  to  examination  and  liable 
to  be  repealed.  He  would  have  order,  but  he  was  against 
the  conscience  being  tied  to  the  Church  and  against 
rigid  dogmatism.  Full  of  fire,  pushing  energy  and 
devotion  to  his  principles,  he  made  his  way  at  Oxford, 
till  in  161 1  he  became  president  of  St.  John's  College 
and  a  source  of  much  irritation  to  the  Puritan  authorities 
of  the  university.  Five  years  later  he  was  made  dean 
of  Gloucester,  and  began  to  "  set  things  in  order "  by 
removing  the  table  from  the  body  of  the  church  to  the 
chancel  and  by  commanding  the  cathedral  officers  to 
bow  to  it  when  they  entered  the  church.  His  success 
there  induced  James  I.  in  1621  to  appoint  him  bishop 
of  St.  David's;  in  1626  he  was  translated  to  Bath  and 
Wells;  in  1628,  to  London;  and  in  1633,  to  Canterbury. 
Exalted  to  this  great  dignity,  he  proceeded  vigorously 
to  correct  the  negligence  of  the  clergy.  In  his  visita- 
tions he  found  many  churches  in  ill-repair,  untidy  and 
slovenly  served.  He  directed  the  altar-wise  position  of 
the  communion-table  to  be  kept,  rails  to  be  set  around 
it  to  keep  out  dogs  and  profane  persons,  the  people  to 
receive  the  sacrament  kneeling  thereat,  and  certain 
decent  and  comely  ceremonies  to  be  observed  in  the 
ministration.  The  Puritan  clergy  objected  to  the  terms 
now  introduced  of  "  altar,"  "  adoration  "  and  "  genuflec- 
tion," nor  did  they  wish  to  be  tied  down  to  a  close'  and 
unyielding  ritual ;  but  the  archbishop  had  neither  fear 


THE   PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  54 1 

nor  foresight  and  knew  nothing  of  conciliation.  He  was 
determined  "  to  make  men  learn  to  be  decent  by  acting 
decently,  and  to  be  religious  by  acting  religiously."  If 
they  would  not  obey,  they  must  suffer  the  inconve- 
niences of  excommunication  and  the  consideration  of 
the  Star  Chamber.  Nor  did  he  stop  at  ritual :  morals 
also  came  under  his  notice.  Without  respect  of  persons, 
he  condemned  the  rich  and  powerful  as  well  as  the  poor 
and  helpless  for  wrong-doing.  Never  was  ruler  so  des- 
titute of  tact  or  expediency.  He  had  one  idea — a  very 
small  one — and  in  season  or  out  of  season,  without 
thinking  of  wisdom  or  folly,  he  thrust  it  forward.  In 
a  little  while  he  was  the  most  thoroughly  hated  man  in 
England.  Like  his  master,  Charles  I.,  he  utterly  failed 
to  read  the  signs  of  the  times.  Even  when  the  Puritans 
took  up  arms,  neither  king  nor  archbishop  discerned  the 
gravity  of  the  situation  or  dreamed  of  the  possibility  of 
failure.  They  suffered  the  chances  for  concession  and 
peace  to  pass  by,  considering  themselves  strong  in  the 
righteousness  of  their  own  hearts  and  in  the  justice  of 
their  own  cause,  and  refusing  to  think  well  of  men  of 
the  stamp  of  Prynne,  Burton  and  Bastwick. 

As  soon  as  the  Long  Parliament  met  it  impeached  and 
imprisoned  the  archbishop  ;  in  1643  he  was  brought  to 
trial.  With  great  courage  and  ability  he  defended  him- 
self against  the  charges  of  high  treason  and  '*  of  a  design 
to  bring  in  popery ;"  posterity  has  admitted  his  defence 
to  be  satisfactory,  but  the  foregone  conclusion  was 
reached.  On  January  4,  1645,  the  Lords  agreed  with 
the  Commons  that  the  archbishop  should  die ;  the  king's 
pardon  was  held  to  be  worthless,  and  six  days  later  the 
old  prelate  of  threescore  and  twelve  years  was  taken  to 


542  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

execution.  On  the  scaffold,  with  wonderful  composure 
and  touching  pathos,  he  addressed  the  assembled  spec- 
tators. He  had  come,  he  said,  to  the  brink  of  the  Red 
Sea,  but  before  he  entered  the  land  of  promise  the  pass- 
over  must  be  eaten,  and  that  with  sour  herbs.  He  hoped 
that  his  cause  in  heaven  would  look  of  another  dye  than 
the  color  that  was  put  upon  it  on  earth.  He  declared 
that  he  was  as  quiet  within  as  he  ever  was  in  his  life. 
"  This  poor  Church  of  England,"  he  continued,  "  that 
hath  flourished  and  been  a  shelter  to  other  neighboring 
churches  when  storms  have  driven  upon  them — now, 
alas  !  it  is  in  a  storm  itself,  and  God  knows  whether  or 
how  it  shall  get  out ;  and,  which  is  worse  than  a  storm 
from  without,  it  is  become  like  an  oak  cleft  to  shivers 
with  wedges  made  of  its  own  body."  Then,  desiring  the 
people  to  unite  with  him  in  prayer,  he  knelt  down,  and 
at  a  given  signal  his  head  was  at  one  blow  struck  off. 
His  friends  decently  interred  the  remains,  reading  over 
his  grave  the  solemn  office  of  the  Church  he  had  loved 
so  well. 

A  black  day  was  that  in  the  annals  of  England,  but 
the  Puritan's  turn  had  come,  and  darker  days  were  in 
store.  Four  years  later  Charles  himself  stood  a  pris- 
oner before  the  Commons ;  his  condemnation  followed 
as  a  matter  of  course.  On  the  twenty-ninth  day  of 
January,  1649^  ^^  mounted  the  scaffold  before  his  own 
palace  of  Whitehall.  Around  him  were  the  soldiers  of 
the  Parliament ;  beyond  them  were  the  people  who  still 
loved  him  and  had  it  been  possible  would  have  saved 
him.  "  I  die,"  said  he,  "a  martyr  for  the  liberties  of  the 
people  of  England." — "There  is  but  one  stage  more," 
said  his  friend,  Bishop- Juxon,  as  he  pushed  his  flowing- 


THE  PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  543 

hair  under  his  cap,  "  which,  though  turbulent  and  trou- 
blesome, is  yet  a  very  short  one.  Consider,  it  will  carry 
you  a  great  way,  even  from  earth  to  heaven." — "  I  go,'' 
the  king  replied,  "  from  a  corruptible  to  an  incorruptible 
crown  where  no  disturbance  can  take  place."  He  laid 
his  head  upon  the  block,  gave  the  signal,  and  with  one 
blow  the  military  despots  robbed  England  of  its  king. 
The  body  was  taken  to  Windsor  Castle.  On  the  day 
of  the  funeral,  says  the  chronicler,  "  the  afternoon  had 
been  clear  and  bright  till  the  corpse  was  carried  out  of 
the  hall,  when  snow  began  to  fall  so  fast  and  thick  that 
by  the  time  it  entered  the  west  end  of  the  royal  chapel 
the  black  velvet  pall  was  entirely  white — the  color  of 
innocency.  '  So  went  our  king  white  to  his  grave,'  said 
the  sorrowing  servants  of  Charles  I."  The  Puritans  re- 
fused to  allow  the  burial-service  of  the  Church  to  be 
used,  and  so,  "  without  either  singing  or  saying,"  the 
martyred  monarch  was  laid  in  the  vault  beside  Henry 
Vni.  and  Jane  Seymour. 

The  king  and  the  archbishop  dead,  Puritanism  was 
supreme ;  but,  unfortunately,  Puritanism  was  now  rep- 
resented by  its  army.  For  a  while  Parliament  spoke 
and  the  people  murmured,  but  the  soldiers  held  all 
power.  They  were  a  motley  crew  of  enthusiasts.  Inde- 
pendents, Presbyterians  and  Anabaptists,  one  in  their 
purpojse  to  break  up  the  Church  of  England  and  to 
maintain  their  own  power.  The  Book  of  Common 
Prayer  was  proscribed.;  bishops  and  clergy  were  ex- 
pelled from  their  dignities  and  benefices,  and  severe 
punishments  were  enacted  for  such  as  refused  the  Cal- 
vinistic  worship.  Lord  Macaulay's  words  are  well 
knoAvn :    "  It  was  a  crime  for  a  child  to.  read  by  the 


544  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

bedside  of  a  sick  parent  one  of  those  beautiful  collects 
which  had  soothed  the  grief  of  forty  generations  of 
Christians."  Many  of  the  clergy  died  in  foreign  lands, 
some  in  prison ;  others  lived  of  the  charity  of  their 
former  parishioners.  The  churches  were  desecrated; 
the  windows  and  organs  were  broken,  tombs  were  rifled, 
communion-tables  and  fonts  were  profaned  and  surplices 
were  torn  to  pieces.  Even  the  most  sacred  rites  were 
parodied.  But  why  recall  shameful  indecencies  and 
shocking  blasphemies  ?  To  name  them  is  to  cause  the 
blood  to  curdle.  The  Church  was  overthrown,  cast 
down,  trampled  under  foot  and  covered  with  dust  and 
blood ;  but  she  too  had  noble  souls  who  knew  how  to 
suffer  and  were  not  afraid  to  die. 

At  the  head  of  this  army  was  one  called  Oliver — a 
hero  and  a  saint,  according  to  some  authorities  ;  a  scoun- 
drel and  a  hypocrite,  according  to  others.  Probably  the 
truth  concerning  him  will  be  found  equidistant  from  both 
opinions.  Early  in  the  war  between  king  and  Parlia- 
ment he  hastened  to  the  aid  of  the  latter  with  a  troop 
gathered  largely  from  among  his  Huntingdonshire  neigh- 
bors— "  a  lovely  company,"  he  writes  ;  "  no  Anabaptists, 
but  honest,  sober  Christians."  Valiant  deeds  did  this 
troop  accomplish — deeds  which  won  for  Oliver  the 
sobriquet  of  "Ironsides"  and  by  1644  made  him  prac- 
tically commander-in-chief  of  the  Puritan  army  and 
leader  of  the  Puritan  party.  Soon  he  surrounded  him- 
self with  the  most  pronounced  and  unquestionable  inde- 
pendents in  the  country,  refusing  association  with  the 
moderate,  or  Presbyterian,  wing  of  the  rebellion.  Not- 
withstanding his  sharp  and  untunable  voice  and  his  ordi- 
nary apparel,  by  his  fervor,  keen  perception,  knowledge 


THE   PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  545 

of  human  nature  and  bravery  he  made  himself  and  his 
friends  masters  of  England  and  controllers  of  her  life 
and  her  policy.  The  removal  of  the  king  he  considered 
absolutely  necessary.  "  I  tell  you,"  said  he  to  Algernon 
Sidney,  "  we  will  cut  off  his  head  with  the  crown  on  it." 
Onward  and  upward  he  moved,  intense  in  feeling  and 
earnest  in  principle,  fully  persuaded  as  he  ever  had  been 
of  the  sole  and  complete  righteousness  of  the  religious 
school  to  which  he  belonged,  and  combining  a  decided 
godliness  with  a  no  less  decided  worldly  wisdom.  Fur- 
ther honors  awaited  him.  "  I  have  not  sought  these 
things,"  he  declares ;  "  truly,  I  have  been  called  into 
them  by  the  Lord."  Relentlessly  he  fought  in  Ireland, 
scarcely  less  so  in  Scotland.  His  victories  in  the  field 
and  in  Parliament  won  him  the  praise  of  his  friends. 
*'  Great  things  God  has  done  by  you  in  war,  and  good 
things  men  expect  from  you  in  peace,"  wrote  one  to 
him,  "  to  break  in  pieces  the  oppressor,  to  ease  the  op- 
pressed of  their  burdens,  to  release  the  prisoners  out  of 
bonds  and  to  relieve  poor  families  with  bread."  When 
secure  enough  in  the  command  and  the  affection  of  the 
army,  in  1652,  he  dissolved  the  Long  Parliament.  Five 
or  six  files  of  musketeers  was  all  the  force  needed ;  the 
speaker  left  his  chair,  the  members  went  home  and  the 
mace  was  taken  away.  This  drastic  measure  met  with 
general  approval  and  excited  great  expectations.  Then, 
in  the  name  of  "  Oliver  Cromwell,  captain-general  and 
commander-in-chief,"  a  new  Parliament  was  called.  It 
met — all  "  persons  fearing  God  and  of  approved  fidelity 
and  honesty ;"  quickly  it  found  that  he  who  called  also 
ruled,  and  it  resigned.  Then  the  soldiers  "urged" 
Oliver   to  take   the   supreme   government — some  said, 


54^  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

with  the  title  of  king,  which  was  refused — and  Decem- 
ber, 1 6,  1653,  he  was  installed  as  lord  protector. 

To  confirm  this  settlement,  another  Parliament  was 
summoned  the  following  September.  It  refused  to  accept 
a  ruler  named  by  the  army ;  whereupon  ninety  members 
were  promptly  and  in  one  batch  excluded  from  the  house. 
The  rest  proving  obstinate,  in  January,  Oliver  sent  them 
all  home,  and  twenty  months  passed  before  the  people 
were  again  represented  at  Westminster.  In  the  autumn 
of  1656  a  more  select  and  subservient  Parliament  ten- 
dered him  both  money  and  kingship.  The  power  of  a 
monarch  he  had ;  the  title  he  styled  "  a  feather  in  the 
hat,"  and  the  crown  "  a  shining  bauble  for  crowds  to 
gaze  at."  However,  he  consented  to  be  a  second  time 
installed  as  lord  protector.  The  ceremony  took  place 
June  26,  1657,  and  Oliver  was  robed  in  purple  and  ermine 
and  presented  with  a  golden  sceptre ;  he  was  also  em- 
powered by  Parliament  to  name  his  successor,  and  to 
appoint  the  members  of  the  newly-erected  second  cham- 
ber. But  by  the  following  February  this  obsequious 
Parliament  began  to  differ  from  the  Lord  Protector,  and 
it  was  suddenly  dissolved.  "  I  would  have  been  glad," 
said  Cromwell,  "  to  have  lived  under  my  woodside,  to 
have  kept  a  flock  of  sheep,  rather  than  undertake  such 
a  government  as  this."  It  soon  brought  him  to  his 
grave. 

During  these  years  the  voice  of  the  people  was  un- 
heard ;  an  army,  and  not  a  Parliament,  held  the  reins  of 
power.  The  autocracy  of  Oliver,  supported  by  that 
army,  was  complete ;  no  king  reigned  as  he  reigned. 
He  was  absolute,  despotic,  personal.  There  was  no 
shadow  of  republicanism  in  his  administration.     Rather 


THE  PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  547 

than  a  hastener  of  modern  democracy  and  of  popular 
rights,  he  was  the  embodiment  of  the  worst  features  of 
monarchism.  Not  one  of  the  Stuarts  ventured  upon  the 
arbitrary  course  in  which  he  excelled ;  not  one  of  the 
Stuarts  could  hold  the  people  in  the  same  remorseless 
subjection.  That  Cromwell  regarded  himself  the  founder 
of  a  dynasty,  and  not  the  president  of  a  commonwealth, 
is  shown  by  the  care  he  took  to  secure  for  his  family  the 
position  he  held,  the  accumulation  of  privileges  around 
that  position  and  the  appointment  of  his  own  son  as  his 
successor.  That  he  was  not  indifferent  to  honors  is 
proven  by  his  anxiety  to  have  his  own  resting-place 
among  the  kings  in  Westminster  Abbey.  Therefore 
both  royalists  and  republicans  plotted  for  his  overthrow. 
They  wrote  scurrilous  pamphlets  against  him ;  they 
sought  his  murder.  But  in  vain.  The  man  violated 
every  principle  of  constitutional  government,  was  am- 
bitious and  self-willed :  he  was  also  a  hero. 

And  it  is  to  the  honor  of  Oliver  Cromwell  that  he 
governed  well.  Abroad  he  secured  a  glory  for  England 
which  she  had  not  since  the  days  of  Cardinal  Wolsey. 
Even  Clarendon  admits  that  his  greatness  at  home  was  a 
mere  shadow  to  his  greatness  abroad.  His  ambition,  says 
Burnet,  was  to  make  the  name  of  Englishman  as  great  as 
ever  that  of  Roman  had  been.  He  defended  the  cause 
of  the  Vaudois  and  made  all  Europe  fear  his  prowess. 
In  England  much  was  done  to  further  justice  and  to 
advance  morality.  Puritanism  had  free  course,  no  Star 
Chamber,  no  bishop  and  no  clergy  or  courtiers  to  stand 
in  its  way.  It  seized  upon  Archbishop  Laud's  policy 
with  fatal  avidity :  men  were  to  be  made  good  by  being 
forced  to  act  good.     They  were  no  longer  permitted  to 


54S  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

dance  around  the  Maypole,  to  frequent  plays,  to  have 
races,  boxing-matches,  cockfights  or  games,  and  least 
of  all  to  keep  Christmas  and  eat  mince-pies.  Instead  of 
services,  tliey  should  have  sermons  ;  bell-ringings,  wakes, 
holidays  and  harvest-homes  should  be  abolished,  and  the 
people  should  be  taught  the  delightsomeness  of  three- 
hour  admonitions,  and  of  prayers  measured  by  the  sand- 
glass and  fashioned  according  to  the  will  of  the  utterer. 
Thus  the  nation  was  forced  to  put  on  a  sober  face,  what- 
ever it  may  have  felt  in  its  heart ;  none  saw  the  subter- 
ranean vices,  follies  and  longings  pent  up,  waiting  for  an 
outlet  and  gathering  force  for  a  terrific  explosion.  In 
this  lay  the  weakness  of  Puritanism.  It  utterly  failed 
to  make  allowances  for  that  large  multitude  who  cannot 
think  or  feel  according  to  prescription,  and  whose  hearts, 
honest  and  true  enough  otherwise,  have  a  wrinkle  of 
merriment  and  a  spice  of  humor.  Cromwell  had  no 
sympathy  whatever  for  religious  systems  which  consid- 
ered the  infirmities  of  human  nature.  He  did  not  despise 
surplices  because  they  were  white,  but  because  they  were 
associated  with  churches  in  which  the  lighter  side  of 
human  life  was  recognized  as  God-made.  He  held,  as 
the  old  ascetics  held,  that  man-  ought  to  live  seriously 
and  severely.  With  the  utmost  care  he  would  scarcely 
be  saved ;  after  the  most  rigid  observance  of  the  laws  of 
God  he  would  be  unworthy  the  favor  of  God.  Hence 
no  Anglican  was  suffered  to  speak;  no  Quaker  was 
allowed  to  keep  silence :  if  they  would  not  conform, 
they  must  endure  the  penalty.  Did  not  Israel  spoil  the 
Egyptians  and  Elijah  slay  the  priests  of  Baal  ?  But,  this 
sourness  and  severity  aside,  England  was  all  the  better 
for  a  master  such  as  Cromwell.     He  would  be  obeyed, 


THE  PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  549 

and  in  his  courts  justice  was  administered.  He  claimed 
to  rule  in  the  name  of  the  Lord,  and  said  and  did  noth- 
ing except  under  the  guise  of  religion.  That  he  was 
sincere  is  probable:  his  life  and  his  death  were  con- 
sistent. 

Our  forefathers  never  failed  to  trace  a  connection  be- 
tween extraordinary  celestial  or  atmospheric  phenomena 
and  the  great  events  which  happen  among  men.  The 
coincidences  have  certainly  been  many,  A  total  eclipse 
was  an  omen  of  terrible  evil ;  at  the  sight  of  a  comet 

"  the  people  stand  aghast : 
But  the  sage  Wisard  telles,  as  he  has  redd, 
That  it  importunes  death  and  doleful  dreryhedd." 

In  the  April  of  1066  such  a  "blazing  star"  appeared. 
Men  looked  with  awe  upon  a  mighty  mass  of  flame  that 
streamed  across  the  southern  heavens,  and  felt  that  some 
catastrophe  was  nigh.  Before  the  year  closed,  William 
of  Normandy  defeated  Harold  on  the  field  of  Senlac  and 
before  the  altar  of  the  West  Minster  was  crowned  king 
of  the  conquered  nation.  So  with  storms.  The  law  was 
given  to  the  Israelites  amid  the  mighty  thunderings  of 
Sinai,  and  their  request  for  a  king  was  granted  on  a  day 
of  terrible  tempest.  Shakespeare  makes  the  night  in 
which  Duncan  was  murdered  a  night  of  storm — a  rough, 
unruly  night.  Pius  IX.  pronounced  the  dogma  of  pa- 
pal infallibility  at  a  time  when  the  lightning  was  playing 
among  the  pinnacles  and  domes  of  the  Eternal  City  and 
the  v/inds  shook  the  very  walls  of  St.  Peter.  And  when 
Cromwell  lay  dying,  a  raging  storm  swept  the  land 
which  he  had  ruled  in  the  fear  of  God.  People  had 
never  known  so  great  a  storm.     Three  days  its  roar 


550  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

was  heard  from  one  end  of  the  realm  to  the  other.  Trees 
and  houses  were  overthrown,  and  many  persons  were 
in  fear  of  their  hVes.  In  its  wild  wrath  it  lashed  the 
ocean  till  the  breaking  billows  spread  a  broad  fringe  of 
foam  around  the  island-empire,  strewing  the  shore  with 
wrecks  and  making  the  great  rocks  tremble.  It  seemed 
as  though  the  very  elements  were  in  league  with  the 
dying  man  in  Whitehall  and  had  amassed  all  their 
strength  to  rescue  him  from  the  grim  monster.  But 
when  the;  finger  of  death  touches  either  the  violet  in 
the  dell  or  the  oak  in  the  forest,  the  end  comes.  The 
uncrowned  king,  the  dethroner  of  monarchs,  the  fear  of 
Europe,  bent ;  then  he  cried,  **  I  am  a  conqueror,  and 
more  than  a  conqueror,  through  Christ  that  strengtheneth 
me."  In  his  pains  he  murmured  again  and  again,  "  God 
is  good ;"  in  his  faith  he  besought  the  Lord  to  "  make 
the  name  of  Christ  glorious  in  the  world."  The  storm 
began  to  wear  away;  the  sun  of  September  3,  1658,  the 
thanksgiving-day  for  the  victories  of  Dunbar  and  Wor- 
cester, arose,  and  in  the  afternoon  the  weary  one  entered 
into  his  rest :  the  pitcher  was  broken  at  the  fountain,  and 
the  wasting  wind  uttered  its  low  sob  as  it  passed  across 
the  southern  downs,  the  fenland  wilds,  the  hills  of 
ancient  Deira  and  the  moors  and  mountains  of  the 
Borean  realm.  A  fit  ending  to  such  a  life  !  Then  they 
buried  him  ''  amongst  kings  and  with  a  more  than  regal 
solemnity  "  in  the  chapel  of  Henry  VII.  at  Westminster. 
With  the  death  of  Cromwell  passed  away  the  Puritan 
supremacy.  The  force  had  worn  itself  out ;  the  fire  had 
burnt  itself  away.  Two  or  three  short  years,  and  the 
king  and  clergy  had  their  own  again.  The  people  wel- 
comed them  with  rejoicings.     Once  more  the  church- 


THE  PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  55  I 

bells  rang  for  service  according  to  the  ancient  rites; 
the  hallowed  words  of  litany  and  of  liturgy  were  heard 
in  the  cathedrals  and  the  sanctuaries ;  bishops  went  back 
to  their  sees  and  priests  to  their  parishes,  and  soon  things 
were  as  though  Puritan  had  never  been.  But,  alas  !  An- 
glicanism had  not  learned  by  suffering  the  grace  of  toler- 
ation. The  triumph  of  revenge  broke  out.  Even  gentle 
.souls  like  John  Evelyn  and  Izaak  Walton  became  stern 
and  cold  when  they  thought  of  Roundheads,  Fifth-Mon- 
archy Men,  Levellers,  and  the  like.  They  sanctioned  the 
doing  unto  Puritanism  all  that  Puritanism  had  done  unto 
them.  Not  one  tittle  less  ;  if  possible,  a  little  more.  So 
Cromwell  was  thrown  out  of  his  grave ;  two  thousand 
Puritan  ministers  were  deprived  of  their  parishes ;  attend- 
ance at  church  was  made  compulsory,  and  the  Act  of 
Uniformity  became  law.  The  Puritans  offered  no  terms  ; 
they  had  suffered,  reigned,  triumphed,  lost,  and  they 
could  suffer  again.  The  time-serving  Pepys  observes,  "  I 
saw  several  poor  creatures  carried  by  by  constables  for 
being  at  a  conventicle.  They  go  like  lambs,  without  any 
resistance.  I  would  to  God  they  would  either  conform 
or  be  more  wise  and  not  be  catched !" 

Thus  it  is  that  when  one  thinks  of  the  rule  of  Crom- 
well one  needs  to  remember  John  Milton,  Richard 
Baxter,  John  Hampden,  Hutchinson,  Sibbes  and  Flavelle ; 
and  when  one  reads  of  the  reign  of  Charles  II.,  to  recall 
Jeremy  Taylor,  Bishop  Ken,  Peter  Gunning  and  John 
Cosin.  But  for  such  as  these,  the  times  would  be  dark- 
ness unrelieved  and  both  parties  unworthy  of  remem- 
brance. 

During  this  era  were  born  two  men  antagonistic  to 
both  Anglicanism  and  Puritanism,  but  destined  to  help 


552  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

both  systems  to  a  truer  appreciation  of  the  kindlier 
graces  of  Christianity  and  to  a  mutual  understanding, 
and  even  to  brotherly  love. 

George  Fox  brought  out  more  clearly  the  truth  of  the 
spirituality  of  religion — the  independence,  to  return  to  a 
figure  earlier  used  in  this  chapter,  of  the  kernel  and  the 
shell.  Whether  it  were  the  husk  of  ritual,  organization 
or  history  or  the  husk  of  formalism,  doctrine  or  experi- 
ence, neither  was  the  real,  essential  thing  necessary  to 
salvation  and  to  the  union  of  the  soul  to  God.  Nor  did 
man  receive  light  from  these.  There  was  an  indwelling 
Spirit  unconnected  with  sacraments  or  Scriptures,  free 
from  ecclesiastical  or  doctrinal  systems,  guiding  men 
into  truth  and  holiness.  This  illuminating,  controlling 
Power  taught  the  meaning  both  of  the  word  and  of 
Christian  experience ;  it  gave  ministry,  life,  knowledge, 
consolation,  purity,  directly  and  without  human  help ;  it 
made  the  individual  utter  things  that  were  of  heaven,  infal- 
lible, divine  and  eternal.  The  truth  was  indeed  pressed  to 
the  point  of  imperilling  other  truths,  but  the  world  beheld 
the  growth  of  a  society  of  singularly  gentle,  holy,  con- 
sistent and  earnest  people  from  whose  assemblies  all 
ritual  and  from  whose  principles  all  dogmatism  were 
carefully  excluded.  They  were  peaceful  and  patient, 
almost  passively  suffering  that  Spirit  in  which  they 
believed  to  bring  forth  in  their  lives  his  own  fruits  of 
righteousness.  In  their  homes  and  in  their  meeting- 
houses the  extreme  of  plainness  prevailed;  for  music 
they  cared  little,  and  for  honors,  pleasures  and  triumphs 
still  less.  Even  oratory  met  with  small  favor  from  them  ; 
they  agreed  with  Richard  Hooker :  "  Our  safest  elo- 
quence  concerning   Him    is   our  silenced     Thus    they 


THE  PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  553 

were  living  witnesses  of  the  verity  of  the  Unseen ; 
their  conduct  proved  the  freedom  and  the  universality 
of  grace.  Why,  then,  should  Canterbury  and  Geneva 
fight  for  trifles  ? 

But  thoughts  and  practices  such  as  these  are  not  got 
into  the  world  without  much  labor  and  suffering.  Fox 
was  an  innocent,  honest  countryman,  born  at  Drayton, 
in  Leicestershire,  in  July,  1624,  courteous,  unaffected, 
tender  and  merciful.  From  his  childhood  he  was  devout 
and  serious,  baptized  and  attending  the  ministrations  at 
his  parish  church.  In  early  manhood  he  began  to  con- 
sider more  deeply  the  state  of  his  soul.  He  grew  dis- 
tressed and  perplexed  about  many  things,  and,  though 
he  went  to  both  Anglican  and  Puritan,  neither  was  able 
to  help  him.  "  I  saw,"  he  writes,  "  there  was  none  among 
them  all  that  could  speak  to  my  condition."  Was  there 
any  in  the  wide  world  ?  "  When  all  my  hopes  in  them,  and 
in  all  men,  were  gone,  . . .  then — oh^  then — I  heard  a  voice 
which  said,  *  There  is  one,  even  Jesus  Christ,  that  can  speak 
to  thy  condition ;'  and  when  I  heard  it,  my  heart  did  leap 
for  joy."  Years  passed  before  he  had  peace  in  believing  ; 
then  in  1647  he  began  to  preach.  People  listened;  many 
scoffed,  but  some  believed.  He  declared  himself  a  proph- 
et ;  he  could  not  hold  his  peace.  His  "  heart  was  hot  with- 
in him,  and  at  last  he  spake  with  his  tongue."-  Then 
came  persecution — the  Puritan  first,  and  the  Anglican 
after;  both  equally  severe.  With  painful  monotony 
every  two  or  three  years  from  1650  to  1675  he  was 
lodged  in  prison;  between-times  he  ceased  not  to  cry 
aloud.  Discreet  he  was  not ;  such  as  he  never  are.  Had 
he  been,  he  would  have  escaped  much  suffering.  More 
than  once  he  positively  provoked  punishment,  as  at  Not- 


554  H^EADINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

tingham,  where  in  the  parish  church  he  rose  up  and 
contradicted  the  preacher.  But  his  enthusiasm  enabled 
him  to  "  rejoice  in  tribulation  "  and  won  for  him  many 
converts.  Among  these  were  such  men  as  Ellwood, 
Barclay  and  Penn — proof  sufficient  of  his  power,  integrity 
and  success.  He  died  in  1690;  his  society  abides  to  this 
day,  and  from  it  the  world  is  gathering  the  example  of 
toleration,  honor,  simplicity  and  peace. 

The  story  of  John  Bunyan  has  a  beauty  rare  and 
unique.  He,  too,  was  moved  by  deep  soul-thoughts, 
and  lived  as  one  who  saw  the  things  that  angels  desire 
to  look  into  and  cannot.  To  him,  as  to  Fox,  the  great 
religious  parties  of  the  age  were  of  no  use.  He  was 
born  at  Elstow  in  1628,  and  died  in  London  in  1688. 
How  he  passed  from  death  unto  life,  his  spiritual  con- 
flicts, his  touching  experience,  his  victories  for  God,  need 
not  here  be  told.  He  suffered,  but  he  taught  men  the 
greatness  of  Christ,  the  supremacy  of  his  glory  and  the 
grandeur  of  his  love.  The  Lord  of  the  Church  is  greater 
than  the  Church,  and  the  Founder  of  the  faith  is  above 
the  faith.  But  the  highest  truths  can  be  held  within 
the  bounds  of  organization  and  under  the  definitions  of 
doctrine ;  therefore  Bunyan  believed  in  a  ministry,  in 
sacraments  and  in  discipline.  The  faithful  heeded  to  be 
edified  as  well  as  the  ungodly  to  be  converted.  So  he 
preached  free  grace,  maintained  order  and  decorum,  and 
visited  his  people  with  faithfulness  and  authority.  Against 
episcopacy  and  Presbyterianism  he  protested,  yet  with 
his  large-heartedness  he  loved  all  who  in  sincerity  and 
in  truth  loved  and  served  the  one  Lord. 

But  Bunyan's  ministry  to  the  world  is  in  the  Filgnm's 
Progress — next  to  the  Bible,  the  best  loved,  the  most  catho- 


THE  PURITAN  SUPREMACY.  555 

lie,  the  widest  known,  of  books.  Even  as  the  world  ac- 
knowledges the  literary  excellence  of  that  work,  so  does 
the  Church  recognize  its  spiritual  charm.  With  the  Co7i- 
fessions  of  St.  Augustine  and  the  Iniitatio  CJiristi  it  forms 
the  trinity  of  uninspired  books  of  which  man  will  never 
tire.  So  broad  is  its  sympathy,  so  true  is  its  delineation 
of  character  and  experience,  so  full  of  the  spirit  of  all 
truth,  that  people  who  can  agree  upon  nothing  else  are 
one  in  their  appreciation  and  praise  of  it.  There  is  not 
from  beginning  to  end  a  single  party-line.  Even  Roman- 
ists, after  expunging  the  allusion  to  the  pope,  delight  to 
read  it.  Anglicans  and  Puritans  find  in  it  the  expression 
of  their  truest  emotions  and  thoughts.  They  can  forget 
their  differences  as  they  journey  with  Christian  from 
the  City  of  Destruction  to  the  King's  Land.  Together 
they  love  to  linger  at  the  Interpreter's  House,  with  the 
sisters  of  the  Palace  Beautiful  and  the  shepherds  of  the 
Delectable  Mountains,  and  upon  the  banks  of  the  river 
beyond  which  lies  the  Celestial  City.  In  Beulah-land 
they  even  forget  articles  and  confessions  and  differences 
fade  away.  For  is  not  this  the  way  in  which  both  are 
pilgrims  ?  And  is  not  the  one  Lord  the  Lord  of  both  ? 
Thus  by  his  mystic  charm  has  the  tinker  of  Bedford 
helped  to  bring  into  harmony  the  multitudes  of  readers 
in  both  parties.  From  his  living  pages  both  Puritan  and 
Anglican  have  learned  that  there  is,  after  all,  but  "  one 
Lord,  one  faith,  one  baptism."  They  may  not  desire  to 
live  in  the  one  house  together,  but  they  are  willing  to 
love  each  other  as  brethren,  and  some  day  they  may  find 
that  the  Church  is  large  enough  for  all. 

Nay,  does  either  of  the  old  schools  live  to-day  ?    Has 
not  the  work  of  such  men  as  George  Fox  and  John 


55^  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

Bunyan  so  changed  them  that  their  identity  has  been 
destroyed  ?  Is  not  the  Church  of  the  nineteenth  century 
made  up  of  people  who  in  their  own  Hves  represent  the 
noblest  and  the  best  principles  of  both  parties  ?  Will 
it  be  possible  for  the  seventeenth  century  to  live  again  ? 
These  are  questions  not  difficult  to  answer. 


CHAPTER    XVIII. 

m)€  Storg  anir  g^pirit  of  ti^e  l^xm}tx::^ook. 

Of  the  many  millions  of  Christians  now  in  the  world, 
nine-tenths  have  a  liturgical  form  of  service;  and  of 
these,  twenty-five  millions  use  the  Book  of  Common 
Prayer.  This  of  itself  expresses  the  mind  of  the  Church 
catholic  that,  as  one  should  not  be  hasty  to  utter  any- 
thing before  God,  so  should  his  worship  be  done  orderly, 
reverently  and  wisely  ;  it  is  further  a  proof  that  experi- 
ence has  shown  the  utility  in  the  spiritual  life  of  prear- 
ranged forms  and  precomposed  prayers. 

Nor  is  there  any  evidence  that  the  early  Church  de- 
parted from  the  custom  which  existed  in  both  Jewish 
and  pagan  temples  of  such  services ;  on  the  contrary,  re- 
mains of  the  primitive  liturgies  have  survived  the  ages, 
some  to  have  their  place  in  the  New  Testament  and 
others  to  be  enshrined  in  the  Anglican  book.  Besides 
the  portions  of  Holy  Scripture  and  the  Psalms  which, 
having  passed  from  the  Jewish  into  the  Christian  Church, 
have  been  used  in  divine  service  for  more  than  two  thou- 
sand years,  these  fragments  are  redolent  with  the  spirit- 
uality and  the  holiness  of  the  remotest  ages  of  Christi- 
anity. Augustine  of  Canterbury  in  A.  D.  597  found  that 
the  Christians  of  Britain  had  already  service-books  of 
their  own,  and  these  he  rearranged  for  use  in  the  newly- 
formed  English  Church.     Owing  to  the  division  of  the 

.    657 


558  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

country  into  independent  kingdoms  and  its  speech  Into 
strange  and  uncultivated  dialects,  the  books  varied  in 
different  dioceses ;  but  in  A.  d.  1089,  Osmund,  bishop  of 
Salisbury,  brought  the  many  Uses  into  one  form  which 
by  its  merits  largely  superseded  the  local  books  and 
held  its  own  as  the  national  liturgy  down  to  the  sixteenth 
century.  The  further  lapse  of  five  hundred  years  made 
change  inevitable ;  for  one  thing,  out  of  the  uncouth  dia- 
lects of  Britons,  Saxons,  Jutes,  Angles,  Danes  and  Nor- 
mans, the  English  language  had  formed  itself,  and  was 
now  both  understood  throughout  the  kingdom  and  capa- 
ble of  expressing  theological  thought.  Accordingly,  in 
the  year  1549  the  Church  set  forth  the  book  translated 
into  the  common  tongue  and  rearranged  according  to 
modern  needs.  Further  revision  was  made  in  1552, 
again  in  1559,  and  once  more  in  1662,  since  which  time,, 
with  the  exception  of  the  few  alterations  made  necessary 
in  America  by  reason  of  political  changes,  the  book  has 
remained  the  same. 

In  the  book,  therefore,  as  it  is  now,  may  be  discerned 
not  only  the  spirit  of  the  Church,  but  also  the  workman- 
ship of  some  of  her  most  renowned  scholars  and  saints. 
Here  is  a  line  of  inspired  writ  ingeniously  and  beauti- 
fully woven  into  the  texture  by  some  skilful  hand  ;  here 
a  phrase  from  some  sacramentary  the  authorship  of 
which  is  unknown,  and  here  words  flowing  from  a  mar- 
tyr-soul. Now  we  discern  the  spirit-craft  of  a  Cranmer, 
an  Osmund,  a  Gregory  and  a  Leo  ;  now  we  have  echoes 
from  far-off  ages  and  lands^the  shores  and  the  valleys 
of  ancient  Scotia,  Deira  and  Strathclyde,  the  basilicas 
and  the  sanctuaries  of  imperial  Rome  and  proud  Milan,  the 
council-chambers  of  Chalcedon,  Antioch  and  Nicea,  and 


STORY  AND  SPIRIT  OF  THE  PRAYER-BOOK.     559 

the  upper  rooms  of  the  city  upon  the  hill  of  Sion  ;  and 
each  association  not  only  recalls  the  past  in  vivid  glory, 
but  also  indicates  how  closely  and  sympathetically  the 
book  is  linked  with  the  history  of  the  Church. 

That  churchmen  should  both  treasure  and  love  the 
Book  of  Common  Prayer  is  not  surprising.  Its  history, 
associations,  spirituality  and  language  have  a  charm 
which,  once  felt,  can  never  pass  away.  No  word  is 
insignificant,  no  form  without  its  meaning.  From  the 
hallowed  lines  flows  a  suggestiveness  ever  sweet,  ever 
fresh,  ever  delightful. 

Take,  for  instance,  at  the  outset,  the  title  of  the  book. 
It  is  "  Common,"  and  not  "  Family  "  or  "  Private,"  prayer. 
It  is  not  for  one  class  only,  but  for  all  sorts  and  con- 
ditions of  men,  containing  the  desires,  hopes  and  praises 
which  they  have  in  common,  and  teaching  them  as  chil- 
dren of  the  one  Father  to  come  together  and  worship 
him  with  one  accord.  Nor  is  it  for  one  parish  or  one 
diocese  or  one  country  only,  but  for  the  multitudes 
who  together  hold  the  faith  once  delivered  to  the  saints. 
Thus  in  the  lands  of  Eastern  Asia,  in  India  and  in  Ara- 
bia, in  Africa,  in  Europe  and  in  England,  in  America 
and  in  the  islands  of  the  great  sea  and  of  Australasia,  as 
the  earth  moves  to  the  sunlight,  glad  voices  chant  the 
hymn,  "  O  come,  let  us  sing  unto  the  Lord,"  and  faith- 
ful souls  repeat  in  glad  unison  the  **  I  believe."  Thus 
friend  and  friend,  though  severed  by  broad  oceans,  can 
meet  in  the  same  worship ;  the  stranger  can  bring  back 
to  his  heart  the  home-emotion  and  in  tender  memories 
find  rest,  and  they  who  sail  upon  the  mighty  deep  or 
serve  on  distant  battlefields  or  watch  in  silent  sick-rooms 
can  unite  in  the  Church's  common  prayer  and  grasp  with 


560  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

vivid  earnestness  and  sweet  comfort  the  truth  of  the 
communion  of  saints.  Nor  is  this  all :  the  book  is  com- 
mon not  only  to  the  people  of  this  age,  but  also  to  those 
of  the  ages  past.  The  men  of  the  last  century,  the  men 
of  the  seventeenth  century  and  the  men  of  the  Reforma- 
tion-era used  the  book  even  as  it  is  now  used,  and  so 
in  substance,  too,  did  they  who  lived  in  the  days  of 
Plantagenets  and  Normans,  in  the  days  of  Danish  and 
Saxon  kings  and  of  Mercian  and  Northumbrian  princes. 
A  thousand  years  ago,  and  the  words  that  are  still  said 
for  the  same  purpose  made  of  one  flesh  the  man  and 
the  wife  of  Anglo-Saxon  race.  A  thousand  years  ago, 
and  from  the  lips  of  converts  fell  the  same  Apostles' 
and  Nicene  Creeds  which  are  to-day  repeated.  A 
thousand  years  ago,  and  in  minster  choir  and  cathe- 
dral sanctuary,  and  in  forest-glade  and  on  hillside, 
Christian  people  sang  the  glorious  Venite  and  the 
triumphant  Te  Deum.  And  at  the  setting  of  the  sun, 
when  the  shades  fell  over  wood  and  fen  and  field  and 
stream,  they  knelt  and  prayed,  "  Lighten  our  darkness, 
we  beseech  thee,  O  Lord !"  So  are  the  generations 
knit  together;  the  past  is  brought  into  the  present; 
the  words  now  used  are  the  words  used  by  the  men 
of  old,  and  in  spite  of  changes  and  evolutions  the 
unity  of  the  Church  is  retained. 

Further  to  illustrate  the  plenitude  of  meaning,  take  the 
Canticles.  What  more  sublime  hymn  is  there,  more  fra- 
grant with  splendid  associations,  richer  in  its  notes  now 
of  exuberant  joy  and  now  of  softened  penitence,  than 
the  Te  Deum  ?  Its  power  is  mighty.  Now  it  casts  the 
soul  down  into  the  fathomless  depths  of  the  divine  love, 
mercy  and  compassion;  now  it  bears  the  soul  away  in 


STORY  AND  SPIRIT  OF  THE  PRAYER-BOOK.     561 

thanksgiving  and  adoration  till  it  stands  at  the  very  gate 
of  heaven.  We  see  the  majesty  of  the  glory  filling  all 
space ;  we  hear  cherubim  and  seraphim,  apostles,  proph- 
ets and  martyrs,  praising  the  everlasting  Father ;  we  lift 
up  our  voice  with  the  Holy  Church  throughout  all  the 
world  in  acknowledging  the  honor  and  the  comfort  of 
the  blessed  Trinity.  Every  word  seems  to  run  over  with 
power  and  expression  ;  every  line  fills  the  soul  with  emo- 
tions which  seem  to  belong  to  the  Church  triumphant 
rather  than  to  the  Church  militant.  An  unnoticed  word 
which  is  winning  its  way  back  again  to  the  American 
version  of  this  hymn  is  an  instance  in  point :  "  Let  thy 
mercy  lighten  upon  us."  So  the  dove  lights  upon  the 
ground,  and,  as  the  poets  have  loved  to  think,  mercy 
stands  out,  not  as  an  abstraction,  a  quality,  but  as  a  per- 
son, an  angel  winging  its  way  from  heaven  to  earth,  hov- 
ering over  man  as  the  Holy  Spirit  hovered  over  Jesus  at 
his  baptism,  and  ready  in  answer  to  earnest  prayer  to  light 
upon  him.  The  word  further  suggests  manner :  "  Let 
thy  mercy  lighten  upon  us,"  gently,  lovingly,  tenderly, 
dropping  "as  the  gentle  dew  from  heaven"  with  all  the 
kindness  and  compassion  of  God.  Let  it  light  upon  men 
as  the  soft  sunbeams  light  upon  the  flowers  and  the 
wavelets,  as  the  inoffensive  dove  lights  upon  the  tree 
or  ground,  as  the  mother's  word  of  forgiveness  lights 
upon  the  heart  of  her  wayward  and  repenting  boy. 
Then  shall  the  favored  soul  be  glad  with  the  assurance 
that  it  too  shall  be  numbered  with  the  saints  in  glory 
everlasting. 

The  same  thing  is  true  of  the  beautiful  and  soothing 
Magnificat — the  song  of  her  who  was  the  handmaid  of 
the  Lord,  type  of  the  Church  which  is   humble  and 

36 


562  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

meek,  which  has  received  good  things  and  which  has 
rejoiced  in  God  the  Saviour.  So  also  of  the  Nunc  Di- 
mittis,  with  its  tender  faith  and  quiet  resignation.  In  the 
hour  when  the  heart's  desire  has  been  fulfilled,  or  when 
God  has  come  very  near  to  the  soul,  or  when  the  night 
of  tribulation  has  passed  into  the  day  of  triumph,  or 
in  the  overshadowing  of  death,  holy  men  in  all  ages 
have  said,  ''  Lord,  now  lettest  thou  thy  servant  depart  in 
peace  "  into  that  home  where  the  unruly  wills  and  affec- 
tions of  sinful  men  disturb  not  and  there  is  none  to  make 
afraid. 

The  collects,  too,  are  full  of  poetry — not,  perhaps, 
winged  and  glorious  as  in  these  hymns,  but  intense,  trem- 
bling, subdued,  soothing.  The  spirit  of  song  in  the  hymn 
is  as  the  cherub  robed  in  dazzling  brightness  carolling  its 
joyous  anthem  in  realms  of  highest  glory;  the  spirit  of 
song  in  the  collect  is  as  a  virgin  whose  soul  quivers  with 
emotion  and  whose  heart  is  filled  with  thoughts  the  voice 
cannot  express.  In  the  words  of  the  collects  there  is  no 
exuberance,  no  freedom,  no  hastiness,  but  a  tranquil  sweet- 
ness, a  chastened  sobriety,  a  reverent  drawing  near  to 
God.  They  are  beautiful  with  the  quiet  glow  of  warm 
and  believing  devotion.  Their  language  is  forcible, 
homely,  suggestive  and  well  arranged.  They  seem  to 
send  their  short  sentences  flashing  heavenward  as  the 
swiftly-sped  arrow  pierces  the  clouds  and  the  morning 
sunbeams  penetrate  the  night-gloom.  Meditation  upon 
one  of  their  expressions  is  like  standing  upon  a  Pisgah 
and  beholding  the  vision  of  the  Lord's  inheritance. 
Some  of  them  open  the  way  to  fields  of  rich  delight  and 
spiritual  refreshment,  where  the  soul  wanders  hither  and 
thither  as  though  in  an  Eden  till  the  lightsome  glad- 


STORY  AND  SPIRIT  OF  THE   PRAYER-BOOK.     563 

ness  constrains  it  to  soar  away  into  heaven's  realm — to 
peer  into  the  glory  that  like  a  soft  cloud  hangs  around 
the  city  of  the  King.  None  can  reach  the  depths  of 
thought  and  consolation  that  lie  beneath  the  words,  "  O 
God,  who  hast  prepared  for  them  that  love  thee  such 
good  things  as  pass  man's  understanding."  Here 
has  man  no  continuing  city:  his  home  is  beyond  the 
cares  and  joys  of  this  life,  even  in  the  land  of  the  many 
mansions.  Nor  could  words  be  framed  more  fitly  to 
express  the  want  of  the  Christian's  heart  in  the  midst 
of  earth's  bewildering  attractions  than  those  of  another 
collect:  "That,  thou  being  our  Ruler  and  Guide,  we 
may  so  pass  through  things  temporal  that  we  finally 
lose  not  the  things  eternal."  And  in  a  third  :  "  That  so, 
among  the  sundry  and  manifold  changes  of  the  world, 
our  hearts  may  surely  there  be  fixed,  where  true  joys 
are  to  be  found."  Take  one  other  illustration,  this 
line  from  the  collect  for  St.  John  the  Evangelist's  day : 
"  Cast  thy  bright  beams  of  light  upon  thy  Church."  It 
is  not  an  exultant  strain,  but  it  is  none  the  less  expres- 
sive and  beautiful,  and  has  a  true  rhythm,  simplicity  and 
suggestiveness.  It  reminds  one  of  the  Church  sitting 
in  the  darkness  of  tribulation,  dreading  her  future  and 
weeping  for  her  Lord — the  times  when  the  people  fled 
to  the  mountains  and  took  refuge  in  the  deserts,  when 
children  fell  into  the  hands  of  the  destroyer  and  mar- 
tyrs poured  out  their  blood  upon  the  earth ;  then  comes 
the  dawning,  the  rising  of  the  Sun  of  righteousness,  the 
approach  of  the  Light  of  the  world,  and  the  glory  falls 
upon  her,  the  Day-spring  from  on  high  hath  visited 
her.  And  who  did  more  to  manifest  the  light  of  Christ 
than  St.  John?     His  whole  Gospel  is  taken  up  with  the 


$64  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

setting  forth  of  the  divine  glory.  From  beginning  to 
end  it  is  full  of  radiant  beams — rainbows  set  upon  clouds, 
celestial  light  displayed  in  rich  and  rare  effulgence.  The 
expression  in  the  collect  not  only  suggests  the  beauty 
of  the  day  when  the  Lord  looks  upon  the  Church,  but 
it  also  brings  to  mind  the  beloved  disciple  who  lay  his 
head  upon  his  Master's  breast,  and  teaches  that  light 
and  joy  can  come  only  from  close  communion  with  the 
Lord  Jesus, 

This  soothing,  comforting  tendency,  this  aim  to  still 
the  tumult  and  the  turmoil,  to  allay  the  doubts,  the 
worries  and  the  perplexities  which  assail  the  soul,  is  one 
of  the  most  delightful  characteristics  of  the  Prayer-book. 
The  occasional  offices  bring  this  home  forcibly.  No 
greater  thing  can  parents  do  for  their  little  ones  than 
to  bring  them  to  Jesus  in  baptism,  and  comforting  it  is 
to  know  that  the  darling  love  of  the  family  is  "  graft- 
ed into  the  body  of  Christ's  Church "  and  received 
into  the  "  congregation  of  Christ's  flock " — that  God 
does  not  think  it  beneath  his  notice  nor  deem  it  incapa- 
ble of  receiving  a  blessing  it  can  neither  understand  nor 
appreciate.  Anxieties  and  doubts  there  are,  but  much 
also  there  is  to  still  the  heart's  questioning  fears  when  the 
prayer  goes  up  to  God  that  this  dear  one,  *'  being  sted- 
fast  in  faith,  joyful  through  hope  and  rooted  in  charity, 
may  so  pass  the  waves  of  this  troublesome  world  that 
finally  it  may  come  to  the  land  of  everlasting  life,  there 
to  reign  with  thee  world  without  end."  And  when  the 
years  roll  by  and  the  bud  of  infancy  has  reached  the 
blossom  of  youth,  a  quiet  rejoicing  runs  through  the 
parents'  hearts  as  their  loved  one  kneels  to  receive  the 
laying  on  of  hands,  and  the  prayer  is  offered  that  he 


STORY  AND  SPIRIT  OF  THE  PRAYER-BOOK.     565 

may  continue  Christ's  for  ever  and  daily  increase  in  his 
Holy  Spirit  until  he  come  unto  the  everlasting  kingdom  ! 
In  life  there  come  the  days  of  sickness :  remember  the 
restfulness  and  the  consolation  of  the  Visitation.  The 
salutation  of  peace,  the  declaration  of  faith,  the  unbur- 
dening of  the  soul,  the  authoritative  assurance  of  forgive- 
ness, such  words  as  "  Christ  himself  went  not  up  to  joy, 
but  first  he  suffered  pain,"  tend  to  quiet  the  soul  and 
prepare  it  for  the  coming  change.  And  in  the  Sick 
Communion  there  is  an  appreciation  of  the  presence  of 
One  unseen  yet  near — the  comfort  that  comes  when  the 
Lord  of  life  whispers  to  the  soul,  "  Peace,  be  still."  And 
by  the  side  of  the  faithful  departed  how  deep  the  com- 
fort !  The  veil  which  hangs  over  sacred  experiences 
hides  many  a  scene  where  the  rites  and  the  words  of 
these  offices  have  come  to  thirsty  hearts  like  refreshing 
showers  of  heavenly  grace. 

Turn  from  these  to  the  Litany.  Its  impressive  words, 
its  passionate  entreaties,  its  rapid  changes,  may  be 
likened  to  strains  of  music  playing  through  cathedral- 
aisles,  now  in  gentle  murmurs  of  softened  melody,  now 
in  pealing  tones  of  majestic  might  and  storm-wrought 
power.  Its  cadences  fall  into  the  heart,  at  one  time 
stirring  it  to  action,  at  another  lulling  it  to  rest.  It  sends 
shade  and  sunshine  flashing  across  the  mind  as  they  pass 
over  the  sky  in  spring.  Now  the  soul  seems  to  rest  as 
the  eagle  rests  amid  the  white  clouds,  now  as  the  swan 
floats  upon  the  smooth  stream  ;  all  is  peace.  The  swift 
transitions  here  suggested  are  most  distinct  in  the  Obse- 
crations— those  two  sentences  in  which  the  life  of  our 
Lord  is  set  forth,  beginning,  "  By  the  mystery  of  thy 
holy  Incarnation,"     The  thoughts  are  carried  away  from 


566  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

the  things  of  earth  and  the  suggestion  of  Sinai  into  the 
eternal  past  where  the  soul,  moved  by  swift  currents, 
is  carried  into  the  broad  sea  of  God's  love,  there  to 
gaze  upon  the  limitless  expanse  and  to  think  of  the 
fathomless  depths.  Jesus  the  God-man !  The  more  we 
think  of  it,  the  more  are  we  bewildered.  We  say,  "  It  is 
enough.  Lord,  that  thou  shouldst  show  us  the  clouds 
which  hide  thy  splendor;  we  cannot  look  upon  the 
ineffable  radiance,  the  pure  white  light."  And  the  word 
"nativity"  brings  us  back  to  earth:  we  see  a  virgin- 
mother  weeping  tears  of  joy  over  her  new-born  Babe  ; 
we  hear  the  angels  singing  over  the  fields  of  Bethlehem  ; 
we  think  of  men  from  the  East  following  the  guiding 
of  the  star,  and  we  remember  the  days  in  which  we  have 
celebrated  the  coming  of  the  Prince  of  peace.  Yet  a 
word,  and  we  are  borne  to  the  lonely  wilderness  to  behold 
both  temptations  and  triumphs ;  and  another  word,  and 
before  us  lie  the  shades  and  the  sorrows  of  Gethsemane. 
We  see  the  sleeping  disciples  and  the  stealthy  march  of 
men  led  on  by  the  betrayer ;  we  look  upon  Him  who  in 
agony  unutterable  suffers  pain  no  other  mortal  ever  felt. 
And  darker  and  still  darker  grow  the  shadows  as  in  the 
unearthly  gloom  Calvary  rises,  and  rocks  are  rent,  and 
strong  men  tremble,  and  in  awful  silence  the  Redeemer, 
crowned  with  thorns  and  pierced  with  nails,  passes  into 
the  Unseen,  the  Mysterious,  the  Eternal.  A  cross  and  a 
grave !  The  darkness  deepens  ;  we  can  almost  hear  the 
sobbing  of  the  Magdalene  and  the  heartbreaking  of  the 
disciples ;  we  can  almost  feel  the  dying  of  faith  and  the 
pangs  of  despair.  Then  suddenly,  as  in  a  tropic  land, 
upon  the  fearful  night  bursts  the  sun-glory.  In  an  instant, 
as  with  a  consuming  flash,  Bethlehem,  Gethsemane  and 


STORY  AND  SPIRIT  OF  THE  PRAYER-BOOK.     567 

Calvary  are  forgotten,  the  manger,  the  cross  and  the 
grave  fade  away,  and  we  rush  into  the  radiance  of  the 
Easter-morn.  Jesus  Hves!  Death  is  conquered!  Sinai's 
clouds  melt  into  light,  its  terrors  into  joy!  The  Resur- 
rection casts  its  splendor  upon  the  Anointed  of  God,  its 
brightness  into  our  hearts,  its  hope  upon  the  graves 
where  sleep  our  loved  ones;  and  sweeter  songs  come 
down  from  heaven's  realms  than  those  which  angels  sang 
at  the  Nativity.  Standing  amid  the  glory,  dazed  with 
the  marvellous  vision,  we  see  the  risen  Lord  ascend 
beyond  the  clouds  to  the  throne  at  the  right  hand  of 
the  Majesty  on  high,  from  thence  to  send  us  another 
Comforter.  Verily  hath  the  wail  of  sorrow  passed 
swiftly  into  the  shout  of  triumph — the  midnight  gloom 
into  the  meridian  light ! 

Perhaps  nothing  in  the  book  appeals  to  the  heart 
more  than  the  Evening  Service.  Toil  and  perplexity 
are  over : 

"  For,  though  the  day  be  never  so  long. 
At  last  the  bell  ringeth  to  evensong." 

The  associations  of  the  hour  are  in  themselves  soothing 
and  restful,  and  especially  are  they  so  when  the  daylight 
is  literally  passing  away  and  the  long,  faint  shadows  fall 
across  nave  and  aisle.  The  golden  thought  is  peace. 
It  is  felt  in  everything — in  the  Confession,  that  we  may 
have  peace  with  God ;  in  the  Canticles,  versicles,  hymns 
and  prayers,  that  the  peace  of  the  Most  High  may  rest 
upon  us.  What  additional  significance  is  thrown  into 
the  ancient  salutation,  "  The  Lord  be  with  you  "  ! — "  with 
you,  beloved,  in  all  your  tribulation  and  your  joy,  in  the 
day  of  gladness  and  throughout  the  coming  night."    So 


568  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY, 

more  than  three  thousand  years  ago  Boaz  greeted  the 
reapers,  and  so  from  eariiest  days  has  the  custom  existed 
in  the  Church.  The  answer,  "  And  with  thy  spirit,"  is 
to  say,  "  If  the  Lord  be  with  thee,  then  is  he  with  us." 
One  can  find  in  this  loving  greeting  between  pastor  and 
people  at  the  close  of  the  day  a  suggestion  of  "  the 
burden  of  Dumah."  He  calleth  to  me  out  of  Seir, 
"  Watchman,  what  of  the  night  ?  Watchman,  what  of 
the  night?"  The  watchman  said,  "  The  morning  cometh, 
and  also  the  night ;  if  ye  will  inquire,  inquire  ye :  return, 
come."  "  The  morning  cometh  " — yea,  the  morning  when 
heaven's  day  shall  dawn  and  the  Lord  shall  be  with  his 
people ;  the  night  cometh — the  night  in  which  no  man 
can  work,  the  night  when  they  who  have  served  faith- 
fully shall  rest  in  peace.  But  the  soothing  tenderness 
of  the  evensong  seems  to  culminate  and  abide  in  the 
Third  Collect,  "  Lighten  our  darkness,  we  beseech  thee, 
O  Lord ;  and  by  thy  great  mercy  defend  us  from  all 
perils  and  dangers  of  this  night."  "  No  power  of  our- 
selves to  help  ourselves " — that  is  the  tone  running 
through  these  ancient  words — no  power  in  the  dark- 
ness that  surrounds  both  body  and  soul.  Poor  and 
helpless,  we  lean  upon  a  Father's  strong  arm ;  defence- 
less and  blind,  we  look  to  God  for  protection.  And, 
though  the  state  of  society  is  such  that  the  perils  and 
the  dangers  of  the  night  are  not  what  they  once  were, 
yet  we  know  not  what  evil  may  come  upon  us  in  those 
silent  hours.  We  sleep,  but  "  the  God  of  Israel  neither 
slumbereth  nor  sleepeth,"  and  he  is  watching  over  us. 
As  the  words  of  this  collect  fall  upon  the  ear  there 
come  echoes  of  the  sunset-song  used  in  the  scattered 
hamlets  of  Chios  and  Mitylene : 


STORY  AND  SPIRIT  OF  THE  PRAYER-BOOK.     569 

"  O  Jesu,  keep  me  in  thy  sight 
And  guard  me  through  the  coming  night." 

Henry  Francis  Lyte  in  his  days  of  weary  sickness  prayed 
that  his  last  breath  might  be  spent  "  in  song  that  may 
not  die."  His  prayer  was  granted ;  his  **  death-song  " 
will  live  for  ever.  The  night  came  on  apace,  the  strength 
declined,  but  God  lightened  his  darkness,  and  the  dying 
pastor  gave  to  the  Church  the  hymn, 

"Abide  with  me;  fast  falls  the  eventide." 

Two  months  later,  and  he  saw  the  breaking  of  heaven's 
morning  and  the  fleeing  of  earth's  shadows.  The  saintly 
Ken,  whose  hymn  written  for  the  Winchester  boys  is 
sung  the  world  around',  also  sang, 

"  Glory  to  thee,  my  God,  this  night," 

and  the  blessed  Keble,  with  words  as  sweet  as  any : 

*•  Sun  of  my  soul,  thou  Saviour  dear." 

Thus  the  past  comes  back  again,  and  we  hear  the  church- 
men of  old  praying  in  the  eventide  as  we  have  prayed : 
"  Illumina,  quaesumus,  Doniine  Deus,  tenebras  nostras." 
Well  may  the  service  end  with  benediction,  for  the  grace 
and  love  and  fellowship  of  the  blessed  Trinity  are  with 
us  now,  and  shall  be  with  us  evermore. 

These  are  indications  of  the  spirit  of  a  book  which 
through  the  ages  has  held  the  heart  of  the  Church.  The 
impress  of  the  earliest  days  of  Christianity  is  upon  it ; 
ever  and  anon  comes  a  line  which  fell  from  faithful  lips 
in  the  days  before  Diocletian  shed  the  blood  of  the  mar- 
tyrs.    And  though  there  seem  monotony,  yet  is  there 


570  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY, 

indeed  healthful  variety  in  the  changes  of  psalms  and 
lessons,  of  collects,  hymns  and  seasons.  And  its  com- 
prehensiveness is  such  that  each  changing  mood  of 
thought,  emotion  and  experience  has  its  correlation  in 
it  somewhere.  The  joyous  believer  finds  words  of  exul- 
tation, the  penitent  sinner  words  of  humiliation;  they 
who  are  in  distress  discover  comfort,  the  mourner  re- 
ceives hope.  The  devout  worshipper  will  always  find 
as  the  service  goes  on  something  that  will  fasten  itself 
to  his  mind  and  become  a  blessing  to  his  soul.  History 
gives  many  a  delightful  instance  of  this  wondrous  adapt- 
ability— this  almost  certain  play  of  coincidence;  one 
only  may  we  recall.  Before  the  dawn  of  the  Wednesday 
morning  of  the  Holy  Week  of  the  year  1 109,  Anselm, 
the  saintly  archbishop,  when  nigh  unto  death,  bade  one 
read  to  him  the  office  of  the  day.  Into  the  still  chamber 
came  the  sound  of  voices  chanting  the  early  service  in 
the  great  church  of  Canterbury,  and  the  song  mingled 
its  sweetness  with  the  words  of  the  reader.  The  aged 
Anselm  was  one  who  had  given  up  much  for  his  Lord, 
who  had  withstood  even  kings  for  righteousness'  sake, 
and  whose  life  of  singular  purity  and  of  more  than  ordi- 
nary piety  had  been  filled  with  tribulations.  By  the 
bedside  the  minister  read  on  to  the  Gospel — the  same 
which  is  even  now  used — and  as  he  read  he  came  to  the 
passage,  "  Ye  are  they  which  have  continued  with  me  in 
my  temptations,  and  I  appoint  unto  you  a  kingdom,  as 
my  Father  hath  appointed  unto  me,  so  that  ye  may  eat 
and  drink  at  my  table."  As  the  words  were  uttered  the 
dying  man  breathed  more  slowly.  The  reader  stopped ; 
the  morning  light  came  through  the  eastern  windows, 
and  Anselm  passed  into  the  presence  of  his  Lord.    They 


STORY  AND  SPIRIT  OF  THE  PRAYER-BOOK.     57 1 

who  know  what  he  had  suffered  at  the  hands  of  Wil- 
ham  Rufus  will  readiest  discern  the  significance  of 
the  message  which  assured  him  of  Christ's  reward.  It 
is  not  only  the  lofty  and  beautiful  diction  of  the  Prayer- 
Book  "  which  sounds  in  the  ear  like  solemn  music  from 
a  higher  and  better  world,"  but  it  is  also  the  spirituality, 
the  sublime  emotions,  the  chastened  thought,  which  lift 
up  the  heart  till  it  seems  to  mingle  its  worship  with  the 
worship  of  those  who  stand  before  the  throne — the  calm 
submission,  exultant  joy  and  tender  love  which  mark 
the  service  of  the  temple  where  with  cherubim  and  sera- 
phim as  with  one  voice  the  saints  lift  up  their  song,  *'  My 
soul  doth  magnify  the  Lord." 

When  one  thinks  of  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer  in 
its  present  form — that  is  to  say,  of  the  work  of  the 
learned  and  godly  men  who  gathered  into  it  the  devo- 
tions of  ages — one  remembers  an  old  legend  told  so  ex- 
quisitely by  Matthew  Arnold.  In  distant  days,  and  in 
that  land  across  the  sea  whence  comes  this  peerless 
treasure,  a  Saxon  fisherman  used  to  watch  the  dull,  dim 
shadow  of  cathedral  walls  rising  incomplete  from  the 
marsh  beyond  the  hut.  There  day  after  day  he  beheld 
"  the  minster's  outlined  mass."  But  one  night  when  he 
looked,  behold !  to  his  surprise,  the  misty,  shapeless 
thing  became  alight  with  glory,  vivid  and  brilliant, 
finished  and  transfigured : 

"  Lo !  in  a  sudden  all  the  pile  is  bright, 
Nave,  choir  and  transept  glorified  with  light, 
While  tongues  of  fire  on  coign  and  carving  play ; 
And  heavenly  odors  fair 
Come  streaming  with  the  floods  of  glory  in. 
And  carols  float  along  the  happy  air. 
As  if  the  reign  of  joy  did  now  begin. 


572  READINGS  IN  CHURCH  HISTORY. 

O  Saxon  fisher,  thou  hast  had  with  thee 
The  Fisher  from  the  Lake  of  Galilee !" 

Nor  can  one  doubt  that  the  men  from  whose  hands  we 
receive  this  book  accompHshed  their  labors,  as  they 
themselves  declared,  "  by  the  aid  of  the  Holy  Ghost." 
There  lay  the  material— precious,  indeed,  but  needing  a 
new  shape,  coming  out  of  the  misty  depths  of  a  remote 
antiquity,  as  the  fisherman  saw  the  cathedral  arise  out 
of  the  forest,  and  under  the  divine  guidance  they  con- 
structed a  book  which  for  beauty  of  language,  wealth 
of  devotion  and  depth  of  grace  is  unequalled  except  by 
the  Bible  itself,  and  which  in  marvellous  fulness  and 
tender  relief  sets  forth  the  prayers  and  the  praises  which 
have  soothed  the  griefs  and  heightened  the  joys  of  many 
generations  of  Christians.  More  to  us  is  it  than  even 
the  splendor  of  a  Westminster  or  the  grandeur  of  a  Can- 
terbury. By  it  our  fathers  approached  the  throne  of 
grace  and  received  the  hallowed  rites  of  feligion ;  by  it 
the  Church,  as  a  tender  mother,  teaches  her  children 
how  best  they  may  worship  and  serve  him,  the  high 
and  holy  One. 

The  Book  of  Armagh  records  that  two  daughters  of  a 
king  once  desired  of  St.  Patrick  the  story  of  the  cross. 
The  words  he  gave  them  woke  a  strange  longing  in  the 
girls'  hearts,  and  they  asked  to  see  the  face  of  Christ. 
"  Ye  cannot,"  said  he,  "  see  the  face  of  Christ  save  ye 
taste  of  death  and  take  the  sacrifice  of  the  Lord."  So 
they  bade  him  give  them  the  holy  sacrament,  and  then 
they  slept  in  death.  And  what  is  the  thought  that 
comes  to  the  devout  churchman  as  he  lifts  up  his 
heart  to  God  ?  Is  it  not  that  he  may  see  the  face  of 
Christ  ?     For  though  the  language  be  beautiful,  though 


STORY  AND   SPIRIT  OF  THE  PRAYER-BOCK.     573 

the  rites  be  expressive,  yet  both  language  and  rite  have 
their  power,  their  marvellous  soothing  tendency,  from 
the  spirit  of  Christ  which  breathes  through  them  and 
gives  them  life.  It  is  the  fulness  of  Christ  in  the  book 
that  makes  it  dear;  it  is  the  consciousness  of  being 
brought  very  near  to  him  that  gives  peace  and  con- 
fidence. By  and  by  these  hallowed  words  shall  cheer 
us  as  we  taste  of  death,  these  sacred  rites  shall  speak  to 
us  of  our  Redeemer's  love,  and  thus  soothed  and  com- 
forted we  shall  pass  into  the  land  where  the  prayer  of 
our  life  shall  be  granted  and  we  shall  see  the  face  of 
the  King. 


INDEX 


A. 

"  Absolution,"  26. 

Adrian  IV.,  Pope,  329. 

-^fric,  291,  487. 

-(^schylus,  40,  81. 

Agatha,  St.,  148. 

Agnes,  St.,  148. 

Agricola,  221. 

Aidan,  St.,  252,  255. 

Alaric,  15 1. 

Alban,  St.,  151,  226. 

Albigenses,  340,  345. 

Alexander  of  Alexandria,  157. 

Alexander  of  Constantinople,  163. 

Alexander   the   Great    (b.    c.   356- 

323).  130. 
Alexander  Severus,  142. 
Alfred  the  Great,  290,  291. 
Ambrose,    St.,   51,    152,   183,    199, 

200,  320. 
Anacreon,  100. 
Anastasius  of  Antioch,  29. 
Anatolius,  St.,  60. 
Andrewes,  Launcelot,  525. 
Anne  of  Cleves,  4S0. 
Anglesea,  Island  of,  220. 
Anglican  orders  derived  from  Rome, 

258,311- 
Anselm  of  Canterbury,  289-329,  387, 

493.  570. 
Anselm  of  Lucca,  295. 
Anthusa,  176. 


Antichrist,  302. 

Antioch  in  Syria,  29. 

Antoninus  Pius,  93,  142. 

Antony,    St.,    105-117,   261,    265, 

266. 
Apollo  changed  into  Christ,  58. 
Apostolicals,  345. 
Aquinas,  330,  351,  352,  442. 
Archdeacon,  can  an,  be  saved?  316. 
Architecture,  triumphs  of,  364-367, 

378. 
Arianism,  155,  162,  177. 
Aristophanes,  81. 
Aristotle,  81,  213. 
Arius,  155,  162,  163. 
Armada,  Spanish,  513-515. 
Arthur,  son  of  Henry  VII.,  458. 
Articles  of  the  Church  of  England, 

473.  475.  484. 
Arundel,  Archbishop,  411. 
Asceticism,  77-92,  180. 
Athanasius,  St.,  105,  113,  157,  159, 

163-166. 
Athenagoras,  100. 
Attila,  151. 

Augsburg  Confession,  433. 
Augustine  of  Canterbury,  187,  243- 

247,  557- 
Augustine  of   Hippo,  31,   51,   152, 

194-212,  387,  501,  555. 
Aulus  Plautius,  221. 
Austin  canons,  298,  386. 
575 


5;6 


INDEX. 


B. 

Bailiff,  death  and  burial  of  a,  284. 

Baldur,  legend  of,  236. 

Baptism,  25,  160,  196. 

Basil,  St.,  45,  167,  418. 

Baxter,  Richard,  525. 

Beccelin  the  barber,  265. 

Bede,  267,  292,  393. 

Beginnings   of    Reformation,    373- 

413- 
Benedict  of  Nursia,  63,  152,  272. 
Benedict  of  Peterborough,  192. 
Benedict  of  Wearmouth,  292. 
Benedictine  monks,  273,  297. 
Benedictus,  42. 

Bernard  of  Clairvaux,  60,  298. 
Bertha,  queen  of  Kent,  243. 
Beverley,  sisters  of,  368. 
Beza,  Theodore,  443. 
Black  Death,  380. 
Boadicea,  221. 
Bodies  that  delayed  corruption,  Ii6, 

286. 
Boleyn,  Anne,  459,  461,  469,  473. 
Bonaventura,  352. 
Boniface  VIII.,  Pope,  346,  347. 
Boniface  of  Maintz,  291. 
Boniface  of  Numidia,  210. 
Book  of  Common  Prayer,  443,  483, 

484. 
Bora,  Catherine  von,  434. 
Boscoi,  the,  135. 
Bradwardine,  289,  401. 
Brethren  of  the  Common  Life,  385. 
British  Church,  239,  247,  251,  258, 

311- 

British  land  and  Church,  the,  213- 

229. 
Bromholm,  381-384. 
Bruce  of  Scotland,  342. 
Bruere  of  Exeter,  360. 


Bruno  of  Cologne,  297. 
Brutus  the  Trojan,  216. 
Bullinger,  432,  523. 
Bunyan,  31,  554-556. 
Burghesh  of  Lincoln,  401-403. 

C. 

Cadoc,  151. 

Cadwallon  of  Gwynedd,  250. 

Caecilia,  St.,  148. 

Caecilian  of  Carthage,  156. 

Calixtines,  392. 

Calvin,  John,  439-444,  523- 

Camden,  269. 

Cantelupe  of  Hereford,  360. 

Canterbury,     164,    243,    245,    257, 

289-329,  360,  365. 
Canterbury  Tales,  395. 
Canons,  298. 
Caracalla,  142. 
Caractacus,  221. 
Carausius,  232. 

Carpenter  of  Worcester,  396,  401. 
Carthage,  129. 
Carthusians,  297. 
Cassivellaunus,  221. 
Catherine,  St.,  148. 
Catherine  of  Arragon,  458,  468. 
Catherine  Howafrd,  480. 
Catherine  Parr,  480. 
"Catholic,"  meaning  of  word,  152. 
Cedd  of  East  Anglia,  253,  255. 
Celibacy,  97-99,  475- 
Celsus,  15,  93. 

Century  of  splendor,  330-372. 
Ceolwulph  of  Mercia,  281. 
Chad,  St.,  253-255. 
"Chapel,"  derivation  of  word,  178. 
*'  Chaplain,"     derivation    of    word, 

178. 
Charles  the  Martyr,  541,  542,  543. 


INDEX. 


S77 


Charles  V.,  Emperor,  424,  460, 

Chatterton,  54. 

Chaucer,  395. 

Children's  Crusade,  344. 

Chimneys,  use  of,  331, 

Chivalry,  341. 

Christ,  Deity  of,  153,  159. 

Christianity  introduced  into  Britain, 
224-226, 

Chrysogone,  189. 

Chrysostom,  St.,  29,  31,  35,  152, 
167-169,  418,  501. 

Church,  early,  aggressive  character 
of,  16;  appeal  to  the  masses 
of,  16;  catholicity  of  the,  152- 
155;  causes  of  extension,  14; 
composition,  15;  development, 
15,  49;  discipline,  18,  23,80, 
84 ;  pagan  account  of,  36 ; 
persecution  of,  20,  22,  28,  92- 
97.  146. 

Cicero,  130. 

Cistercians,  298,  3CK). 

"  Clack-dish,"  -^2^- 

Claudius  Gothicus,  142. 

Clement  of  Alexandria,  44,  48,  57, 

75»  9^  96. 
Clement  of  Rome,  147. 
Clemenv  VII.,  Pope,  501. 
Clementine  hymn  to  Christ,  45,  48, 

51,57. 

"  Clergy,"  application  of  term,  322, 

Clergy  differ  from  monks,  137. 

Clergy,  ignorance  of  the  parish, 
399,  482. 

Cluniac  monks,  297. 

Cobbler  of  Alexandria,  the,  1 13. 

Coifi,  249. 

Coincidences  not  necessarily  inven- 
tions, 177. 

Colet  of  St.  Paul's,  414,  451. 
37 


Collects,  the,  562-564. 
Columba,  St.,  152,  251. 
Commodus,  142,  225. 
Confessions  of  St.   Augustine,    204, 

212,  438,  557- 
Confirmation,  rite  of,  25. 
Constantine   the     Great,    113,    149 

156,  168. 
Constantinople,   151,  152,  168,  346, 

374. 
Constantius  Chlorus,  143,  146,  149, 
Constitutions  of  Clarendon,  324. 
Consubstantiation,  429. 
Corpus  Christi,  festival  of,  350. 
Councils,  156,  226,  485,  540. 
"  Counsels  of  Perfection,"  loi. 
Courtenay  of  Canterbury,  410. 
Coverdale,  465,  478. 
Cranmer,  464-493,  523,  558. 
Cromwell,  Oliver,  544-550,  552. 
Cromwell,  Thomas,  458,  470,  472. 
Cross,  Invention  of  the,  168-173. 
Croyland,  260-288. 
Crusades,  312,  343,  344,  376. 
Cuthberga,  St.,  189. 
Cuthbert  of  Canterbury,  300. 
Cuthbert  of  Durham,  253-256,  265 

266. 
Cuthbert  of  Wearmouth,  293. 
Cynobellinus,  221, 
Cyprian,  lOO,  129,  147,  148,  189. 
Cyril  of  Jerusalem,  153,  169. 


Danes  attack  Croyland,  280. 

Daniel  the  Stylite,  134. 

Dante,   28,  40,   54,   310,  330,   346, 

353-358. 
David,  St.,  151. 
Deacons,  161. 
Dead,  prayers  for  the,  27,  201,  484. 


57S 


INDEX, 


De  Civitate  Del,  204. 

De  Roche  of  Winchester,  359. 

Derby,  Lady,  533. 

Destruction  of  Jerusalem,  20. 

Didymus  of  Alexandria,  167. 

Diocletian,  142-149. 

Discipline  in  the  early  Church,  23. 

Dissolution    of    the     abbeys,   455- 

458,  470-472. 
Diuma,    bishop   of    the    Mercians, 

253- 
Doctrine  of  Christ,  58,  153,  159. 
Dominic,  330,  339-341,  437- 
Dominicans,  340,  386. 
Domitian,  21. 
Druids,  218-221. 
Duns  Scotus,  352. 
Dunstan,  291,  301. 

E. 

Eadbald  of  Kent,  248, 

Eadburga  of  Repton,  269. 

Edward  the  Confessor,  290. 

Edward  VI.,  480-489. 

Edwin  of  Northumbria,  248-251. 

Egwine  of  Worcester,  271. 

Egypt,  ancient  civil iation  of,  72. 

Egypt,  Christianity  in,  70. 

Egyptian  tendency  to  monachism, 
72. 

Elagabalus,  1 42. 

Elfrida  of  Repton,  261. 

Eleutherus,  225. 

Elizabeth,  Queen,  470, 474, 494, 496. 

England,  conversion  of,  230-259. 

English  Church  not  created  by  Par- 
liament, 258 ;  continuity  of  the, 
445,  446. 

English  paganism.  234-238. 

English  Reformation,  445-493. 

English  settle  in  Britain,  232. 


Ephraem  the  Syrian,  60,  136, 
Epiphanius  of  Cyprus,  167. 
Episcopacy,  26,  34,  139,  145,  156, 

160,  349,  486. 
Erasmus,  414-417,  422,  431, 
Eric  of  Brunswick,  426. 
Essenes,  63-69,  78. 
Ethelbald  of  Mercia,  266,  270. 
Elhelbert  of  Kent,  243-246. 
Eucharist,  25,  27,  162,  350,  429,  442, 

486. 
Euodius,  27. 

Eusebius  of  Csesarea,  157. 
Eusebius  of  Nicomedia,  157. 
Eustathius  of  Antioch,  157. 
Evelyn,  John,  551. 
Evensong,  567. 
Eventide  hymn,  45. 
Evesham,  271. 

F. 

Faith,  St.,  148. 

Farnham  of  Durham,  360. 

Fasting,  27. 

Felicitas,  96,  149. 

Felix  of  East  Anglia,  250. 

Felix  of  Yarrow,  268,  279.. 

Feudalism,  341. 

Field  of  the  Cloth  of  Gold,  459. 

Finan  of  lona,  252. 

Fish,  symbol  of  the,  24. 

Flowers,  objection  to  use  of,  18,  92. 

Fossway,  223. 

Foster,  John,  475. 

Fox,  bishop  of  Winchester,  457, 464. 

Fox,  George,  552-554. 

Francis  of  Assisi,  265,  330, 336-339. 

437. 
Franciscans,  337. 
Frederick,  elector  of  Saxony,  424, 

426. 


INDEX. 


579 


Frederick    II.,  Emperor,  330,  341, 

343- 
Friars,  degeneracy  of  the,  394,  405. 
Fursey,  St.,  250. 

G. 

Galerius,  143,  146,  148. 
Gardiner  of  Winchester,  465,  468, 

473- 
Gennadius  of  Constantinople,  134. 
Genseric  the  Vandal,  151,  210 
Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  216. 
Gerhard  Groot,  385. 
(ierman  of  Auxerre,  190,  227. 
Gerson,  John,  387. 
Giffard  of  Worcester,  359. 
Gimp  the  Leper,  191. 
Glacial  Period  in  Britain,  214. 
Glastonbury,  63,  365,  471. 
Gloria  Patri,  45,  48. 
Gnosticism,  74-77. 
Godfrey  of  Jerusalem,  314. 
Gray  of  York,  360. 
"  Grazers,"  the,  135. 
Greece,  influence  upon  Christianity 

of,  15. 
Gregory   the    Great,    28,    239-247, 

558. 
Gregory  VII.,  99,  295,  306,  321. 
Gregory  X.,  346. 
Gregory  Nazianzen,  152. 
Gregory  of  Nyssa,  167. 
Grey,  Lady  Jane,  481,  489. 
Grocyn,  414. 

Grosseteste  of  Lincoln,  360. 
Guilds,  167. 
Guthlac,  St.,  260-288. 

H. 

Hadrian,  93, 
Hampden,  John,  .534. 


Hampton  Court  Conference,  522. 

Harold  II.,  190,  549. 

Hatfield,  battle  of,  251. 

Heddi  of  Lichfield,  266. 

Helena,  St.,  168-172. 

Henry  II.,  318-328. 

Henry  IV.,  Emperor,  295,  321. 

Henry  VII.,  379. 

Henry  VIII. ,  427,  447-480. 

Henry  of  Huntingdon,  303. 

Herbert,  George,  519,  528. 

Herlwin,  304. 

Herodotus,  213. 

Heron  of  Nitria,  124. 

Herrick,  517. 

Hertford,  Synod  of,  257. 

Hesychius,  118. 

Hibernus,  216. 

Hieracas,  100. 

Hilarion,  St.,  117,  151. 

Hilary  of  Poictiers,  152,  175,  177. 

Hilda,  St.,  250. 

Hildebrand.     See  Gregory  VII. 

Hippolytus,  St.,  96,  147. 

Hlodwig,  190. 

Homer,  40,  54,  351. 

Homilies,  479. 

Hooker,  Richard,  164,  494-521. 

Hosius  of  Cordova,  156. 

Hospitality  of  the  abbeys,  368. 

Hospitallers  of  St.  John,  313,  341. 

Hugh  of  Avalon,  297. 

Hugh  Cadarn,  2i6. 

Huss,  387,  389-391. 

Hymnus  Angelicus,  45,  48. 

Hymns  used  in  divine  service,  42. 


I. 


IGNATIAN  Epistles,  31. 

Ignatius,  St.,  13-38,  43,  100,  147. 

Iltud,  St.,  151. 


58o 


INDEX, 


Imitaiio  Christi,  387. 
Indulgences,  415,  421-423. 
Ingulph,  274,  278. 
Inis  Wen,  214. 
Innocent  III.,  330,  341,  346. 
Innocent  IV.,  347,  398. 
Inquisition,  340,  346. 
Investiture,  305-309. 
lona,  or  Hii,  152,  251. 
Ireland,  Church  of,  251. 
Irenseus,  27,  147,  224. 
Isabella  of  Warwick,  381. 
Ivo  Taillebois,  287. 


James   I.    of    England,  497,   501, 

522. 
Jerome,  St.,  105,  122,  167. 
Jerome  of  Prague,  387,  391. 
Jerusalem,  fall  of,  20. 
Jesuits,  437. 

Jewel,  Bishop,  486,  495,  496,  499. 
John  of  Beverley,  189. 
John  of  Gaunt,  397,  407. 
John,  King,  370,  466. 
Joner,  Wolfgang,  432. 
Jordan  of  Plumstead,  19 1. 
Joseph  of  Arimathea,  471. 
Judaism,  influence  upon  Christianity 

of,  15. 
Juliana  of  Weston,  286. 
Julius  Caesar,  221. 
Justin  Martyr,  147. 

K. 

Keats,  54. 
Keltic  migration,  2i6. 
Ken,  Bishop,  569, 
Kenulph  of  Evesham,  270. 
Kentigern,  St.,  151. 
Knights  Templar,  313,  341. 


Lactantius,  167, 

Lanfranc,  289-329,  493. 

Langley,  393-395- 

Langton  of  Canterbury,  370. 

Lapsi,  96,  147. 

Latimer,  Bishop,  114,  414,  446,  472, 

474,  476,  489,  491- 
Laud,  William,  289,  493,  539-542. 
Legenda  Aurea  Sanctorum,  1 7 1. 
Legends  of  the  old  churches,  367. 
Leo  Juda,  428,  431. 
Leo  X.,  Pope,  416,  421. 
Leo  of  Thrace,  134,  135. 
Leontius  of  Caesarea,  157. 
Leprosy,  191,  334. 
Light  a  figure  of  Christ,  43,  58. 
*'  Lighten,"   meaning  in  Te  Deum 

of  word,  561. 
Linacre,  414. 
Lincoln,  223,  296,  360. 
Lindisfarne,  252,  254. 
Lions  dig  St.  Anthony's  grave,  105. 
Litany,  479,  565-567- 
Lollards,  409-412. 
London,  223,  226,  246. 
Long  Parliament  dissolved,  545. 
"  Long  Vacation,"  332. 
Louis  of  France,  343. 
Loyola,  Ignatius,  437. 
Lucian,  93. 
Lucius,  225. 
Lucy,  St.,  148. 

Ludyngton,  Master  William,  277. 
Luther,  263,  419-436,  463. 
Lupus  of  Troyes,  227. 
Luxury  of  the  pagans,  88-92. 

M. 

Macarius  ^gyptius,  121. 
Macarius  Alexandrinus,  126-128. 


INDEX. 


581 


Macarius  of  Jerusalem,  157. 
Magnificat,  42,  561. 
Mani  of  Ecbatana,  76. 
Marcellus  of  Ancyra,  157. 
Marcus  Aurelius,  93,  95,   lOO,  142, 

225. 
Marriage,     27,    66,    89,    97,    167, 

475- 
Martin  of  Braga,  174. 
Martin  of  Tours,  152,  174-193. 
Martyrdoni,  desire  for,  32,  96. 
Mary,  Queen,  474,  489. 
Mary  queen  of  Scots,  481,  511. 
Matthew  of  Westminster,  268. 
Mauger  of  Worcester,  360. 
Maxentius,  148. 
Maximianus,  143,  146. 
Maximin,  148. 
Maximus,  179. 
Maximinus  Daza,  112. 
Mayflower,  the,  538. 
Megalithic  remains,  220. 
Melanchthon,   424,    426,  433,  436, 

441. 
Melito  of  Sardis,  95. 
Methodius,  St.,  60. 
Metropolitans,  145,  226. 
Milton,  40,  355,  529-533. 
"  Minister,"  338. 
Minorites,  337. 
Minucius  Felix,  13,  147. 
Miriam,  105. 
Mistletoe,  219,  236. 
Mohammed,  100. 
Mona,  220. 
Monachism,    growth    of,    104-140, 

180. 
Monica,  St.,  176,  194-212. 
Moravians,  393. 

More,  Sir  Thomas,  452,  461,  470. 
Moses,  St.,  151. 


Mutius,  123. 
Mysticism,  71. 


N. 


National  Church  absolute,  302. 
Nero,  18,  93,  95. 
Newman  quoted,  154. 
Nicaea,  Echoes  from,  141-173. 
Nicene  Council,  45,  156-162. 
Ninian,  St.,  187,  227. 
Nunc  Dimittis,  42,  562. 

O. 

Occasional  offices,  564. 
Odo  of  Clugny,  297. 
CEcolampadius,  431. 
Orderic,  279. 

Origen,  79,  147,  418,  501. 
Osmund  of  Salisbury,  558. 
Ostorius  Scapula,  221. 
Oswald  of  Northumbria,  251. 
Ovid,  100. 
Owen,  John,  82, 
Oxford,  332,  450. 
Oxyrinchus,  128. 

P. 

Pachomius,  118,  123. 

Padagogus,  73. 

Pambos,  128. 

Papacy,   158,   242,  322,   348,   411, 

470. 
Paradise  Lost,  530-532, 
Parish  life  in  Hooker's  time,  515- 

519. 
Paston,  John,  381-384. 
Patriarchates,  26,  168. 
Patricius  of  Thagaste,  195,  201. 
Patrick,  St..  151,  227,  251,  572. 
Paul  of  Alexandria,  105,   114,  261, 

265. 


582 


INDEX. 


Paul  the  Simple,  125, 

Paulinas,  246,  248,  250. 

Paulinus  Suetonius,  221. 

Peada  of  Mercia,  252. 

Peckham,  Archbishop,  401. 

Pega,  263,  272. 

Pelagius,  207,  227. 

Penda  of  Mercia,  250-253. 

Pepys,  551. 

Perambulations,  517. 

Perpetua,  St.,  96,  148. 

Persecution,  92,  95. 

Peter  of  Alcantara,  438. 

Peter  the  Hermit,  312. 

Peterborough,  abbey  of,  267. 

Pharaoh,  tradition  of,  107. 

Philip  of  Hesse,  426. 

Philip  of  Neri,  438. 

Philip  of  Spain,  490,  511,  513. 

Philo,  75. 

Phoenicians,  the,  213,  217,  218. 

Piers  the  Plowman,  393, 

Pilgrimage  of  grace,  472. 

Pilgrinj^s  Progress,  555. 

Pior,  122. 

Plato,  81. 

Pliny,  36,  43. 

Poetry,  early  ritual,  39-61. 

Polycarp,  St.,  29,  30,  96,  147. 

Possidius  of  Calama,  211. 

Pothinus,  St.,  147. 

PrDemonstratensians,  298. 

Praemunire,  statute  of,  411,  462. 

Pray er-B 00k,  story  and  spirit  of  the, 

557. 
Prayers  for  dead,  27,  201,  484. 
Prisca,  St„  148. 

Prosperity  not  an  unmixed  evil,  167^ 
Provisors,  statute  of,  411. 
Psalms,  52,  53,  55,  509,  557. 
Psalter  of  Solomon,  53. 


Ptolemy  the  anchoret,  125. 
Puritan  supremacy,  the,  522-556. 
Puritanism,  497-499,  502,  510. 

Q. 

Quakers,  552-554. 
Quarles  quoted,  102. 

R. 

Rabelais,  439. 

Renascence,  374. 

Rich,  Edmund,  289,  360,  362. 

Richard  I.,  314. 

Richard  of  Wych,  361-363. 

Ridley,  Bishop,  446,  476,  491. 

Ritual,  15,  27,  53,  167,  540,  557. 

Robert  de  Insula,  360. 

Robert  of  Molesme,  297. 

Robert  de  Stitchell,  360. 

Roger  Bacon,  330,  352. 

Roger  de  Hoveden,  364. 

Roger  of  Wendover,  356,  364. 

Roman    Church,    ancient    glory   of 

241. 
Roman  conquest  of  Britain,  221. 
Rome,  influence   upon    Christianity 

of,  15. 
Rome,    decline,    141 ;     Nero's    fire, 

19;  patriarchate,  26,  168. 
Rose  a  figure  of  Christ,  59,  358. 
Rowldrich,  220. 


Saladin,  314. 

Sappho,  81. 

Saracens,  civilization  of,  376. 

Sargon  of  Accad,  177. 

Savonarola,  388. 

Savoy  conforence,  522. 

Sawtrey,  395. 


INDEX. 


5!^3 


Saxon  and  Swiss,  414-444, 

Scota,  2 1 6. 

Scriptures,  5^,  168,  206,  375,  407, 
418,427,477,  527. 

Secret  society,  the  Church  regarded 
as  a,  24. 

Sergius,  134. 

Servetus,  441. 

Severus,  148. 

Sewall  oi  York,  360. 

Sex-worship,  99. 

Seymour,  Jane,  474. 

Shakespeare,  40,  82,  351,  495,  549. 

Sheaf,  symbol  of  the,  24. 

Sicilian  Vespers,  345. 

Sigismund,  Emperor,  390. 

Simon  de  Montfort,  340,  342,  345. 

Sisterhoods,  104. 

Social  life  of  paganism,  88-92. 

Solitary  life,  62-103. 

Sophocles,  40,  81. 

Spenser,  40,  494,  549. 

Splendor,  century  of,  330-372. 

Sponsors  in  baptism,  25. 

Spyridon  of  Cyprus,  157.* 

Stephen,  King,  315,  317. 

Stephen  Harding,  298. 

Stephen  of  Venddme,  344.  • 

Stonehenge,  220, 

Storms,  489,  549. 

Students'  life  in  old  time,  197,  198, 

332,  361,  375. 
Stylites,  130-135. 
Sudbury,  Simon,  289. 
Sulpicius  Severus,  169,  176. 
Sunday,  observance  of,  364. 
Swithin,  St.,  291. 
Sylvester  of  Rome,  157,  189, 
Symbolism,  24,  366,  367. 
Symeon  the  Elder,  130-134. 
Symeon  Maumastorites,  135. 


Synesius  of  Cyrene,  50,  60. 
Synods,  160. 

T. 

Tabenne,  119,  129. 

Taborites,  393. 

Tacitus,  93. 

Tatwin  the  fisherman,  262,  271. 

Te  Deum,  46,  47,  51,  200,  560. 

Tertullian,  22,  43,  88,  89,  96,  129, 

147,  501- 
Tetzel,  422. 
Tewkesbury,  365,  380. 
Thebaid,  early  home  of  monachism, 

105. 
Theobald  of  Canterbury,  ^^5,  316. 
Theodora,  143. 
Theodore  of  Tabenne,  165. 
Theodore  of  Mopsuestia,  152. 
Theodore  of  Tarsus,  256-258. 
Theresa,  St.,  438. 
Thomas   of    Canterbury,    186,    191, 

289,  315-329,.  464,  493- 
Thomas  of  Celano,  352. 
Thomas  a.  Kempis,  385-388,  437. 
Titus,  Emperor,  20. 
Toley,  Dane-fighter,  280. 
Traditores,  96,  147. 
Trajan,  22,  28,  36,  7,1,  43»  93,  142. 
Transubstantiation,  350,  475, 
Travers,  500. 

Trent,  Council  of,  436,  511. 
Trisagion,  45,  54. 
Turchill  of  Essex,  356. 
Turgar  of  Croyland,  280-282. 
Turketul  of  Croyland,  281. 
Tyndale,  465,  477,  482. 


U. 


Ulfilas,  151. 


INDEX. 


584 

Unitas  Frntrum,  393. 
Universities,  332,  375. 
Upton,  Richard,  275-278. 

V. 

Valeria,  i43- 
Valerius  of  Hippo,  202. 
Vespasian,  20,  221. 
Vincent  Lirinensis,  153. 

Virgil,  54,  355- 
Virginity,  lOO,  104. 

W. 

Walter  of  Brienne,  342. 
Walter  of  Worcester,  360. 
Waltheof,^286. 

Walton,  Izaak,  499,  S^T^  S^Q.  SS^- 
Wars  of  the  Roses,  379,  448- 
Washing  of  feet,  287. 
Vfestern  Christendom  a  confedera- 
tion of  churches,  445- 
Whiting,  abbot  of  Glastonbury,  471 
WicklifTe,  397-409- 


William  the  Conqueror,    190.   278, 

293-303- 
William  of  Malmesbury,  190.  355- 
William  Rufus,  303-309.  466. 
William  of  Wykeham,  397,  401  • 
Windows,  332. 
Wooden  bowls,  333. 
Wolsey,  447-463*  468. 
Worms,  Council  of,  306. 
Worms,  Diet  of,  424. 
Wulfilaich,  135. 
Wulfsy,  287.. 


X. 


Xavier,  P>ancis,  437. 


Y. 


York,   149.   226,   246,   250,    290, 
360,  365- 


Z. 


ZwiNGLE,  Ulrich,  428-43 ^  523- 


THE   END. 


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